


Mediocre Omens: The Difference Between Smited and Smote (or Smitten)

by VillaKulla



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Good Omens AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: "I seek righteousness...occasionally."Angels and Demons and movie nights and organ smuggling and celestial conferences and seraphic barroom brawls and smiting and lukewarm coffee. And the internet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of us on tumblr have been engaging in Good Omens related chatter and I felt Compelled to do this. It's going to get absolutely nonsensical and ridiculous up in here. Hopefully. Definitely check out decoy-ocelot's beautiful Good Omens moodboard and Lazaefair's excellent meta and ficlet (full credit to them for the Faraday and Vasquez as 'Dukes of Hell' idea). You're both highly talented individuals and also total enablers.
> 
> https://decoy-ocelot.tumblr.com/post/164677344674/mag7goodrocks-good-omens-au-not-quite-good  
> http://lazaefair.tumblr.com/post/178986407582/lazaefair-villa-kulla-im-sure-this-has-been  
> http://lazaefair.tumblr.com/post/179057530377/good-omens-au  
> http://villa-kulla.tumblr.com/post/178991028036/lazaefair-lazaefair-villa-kulla-im-sure#notes
> 
> Hope you enjoy the ridiculousness! The update schedule for this is ineffable.

 

 

 

 

 

There were three unusual things about the man who had just walked into the warehouse at the far end of the docks. The first was that he wasn’t a man at all, although the body he wore may have been at some point. The second was that no man, no _real_ man, ever managed to make a trench coat look that stylish in real life. And the third was that if you looked closely, beneath the trench coat, you might just make out the occasional brush of feathers that looked suspiciously like a folded pair of wings.

           

There were probably many more unusual things about this not-quite-a-man, but the one that concerns us the most at the moment is why he had entered the unsavoury looking warehouse on the unsavoury looking end of the even more unsavoury looking docks.

 

The man gazed around the large warehouse with interest. It had done cracking business during the industrial age, which the man knew as he’d been there himself once, in 1822. But now it stood mostly empty, except for the guards at the entrance who were no longer guarding the entrance, not after the not-man had shown up.

 

There was a blue flapping in the corner of his eye and he turned towards it. A ghostly looking tent had been erected at the far end of the warehouse and the man turned towards it. He could see a number of shadows moving behind the eerily blue wall of the tent, looking as though they were packing boxes, and a number of shadows that weren’t moving at all. A smile appeared on the man’s face. Bingo. He began to walk across the warehouse.

 

Make that the very _cold_ warehouse, Billy thought as he adjusted his trench coat. Not that he was cold, or could even feel the cold, but he was aware of his wings twitching, ready to burst out, and it wasn’t nearly time for that yet.

 

The unusual cold told him he was in the right place though, and he continued to walk leisurely across the warehouse, footsteps unusually silent over the concrete floor.

 

He stopped at the edge of the tent, and if the people inside had looked up they would have noticed that the shadow rippling over the blue walls had momentarily revealed a rather unexpected number of arms (more than two) and an unexpected number of wings (more than none). But no one looked up and that was how Billy was able to pull the flap aside and step in without being stopped.

 

“Good evening,” Billy said politely while every man in the makeshift tent froze in the act of loading coolers into crates, their heads whipping around to the intruder in the long pale coat and elegantly pinstriped trousers. He glanced around the medical tent, surveying the coolers of organs and bodies on gurneys with mild interest, as though reviewing a child’s science project.

 

“Freeze!” one yelled, and everyone remembered themselves as they fumbled with their coolers, pulling out revolvers from their medical scrubs. All except for one man who had his jaw on the floor and his kidney in his hands. A few drops of clearish, yellowish liquid dripped to the floor, breaking the silence.

 

“I wouldn’t squeeze that if I were you,” Billy said.

 

The man shut his mouth but still looked shell-shocked, still holding onto the kidney. His eyes slid uncertainly over to the cooler he’d been about to pack it in.

 

“Go ahead,” Billy said pleasantly, and the man hastily place the organ into the red cooler, and then was pulling his own gun out from his scrubs.

 

“Don’t move,” he stammered at Billy, who hadn’t moved ever since he’d entered this highly illegal operating theatre.

 

“I won’t,” Billy said. “But I can’t promise he won’t.”

 

There were three unusual things about the man who stepped into the tent behind them. The first was that he was not really a man at all, although his current form looked like one. The second was that no real man managed to make sunglasses indoors at night seem that natural and unaffected. And the third was that if you looked behind the lenses you might catch a glimpse of two irises that were a bright, burning, yellow.

 

“Well well well,” he said taking a step forward, snakeskin boots catching the eerie glare of the lights in the operating theatre. “Whatever _do_ we have here, Billy?”

 

“You tell me, Goody,” Billy said, leaning back against a gurney like he was settling in to watch a favourite show.

 

“I see livers…kidneys,” Goodnight said as he walked slowly around the tent, taking it all in, “And…I say, is that a heart?”

 

He grinned and for just an instant it looked like a forked tongue flickered out over his lips. The men holding guns all took a step back.

 

“You boys have been busy, haven’t you?” Goodnight asked. He trailed a finger over the edge of a gurney which had a sheet draped over a human-shaped lump. “Illegal organ smuggling out of…how many cities, Billy?”

 

“Seventeen, Goody,” Billy said, now playing with a forgotten scalpel, twirling it around his fingers.

 

“Seventeen,” Goodnight repeated, almost sounding impressed. “And for how long, Billy?”

 

“Two years, Goody.”

 

“Two years! Impressive. Really impressive stuff, I’d say. Wouldn’t you say, Billy?”

 

The Being named Billy didn’t reply, just looked up and smiled as he continued to make the scalpel dance across his knuckles.

 

“You two police or what?” one man in doctor’s scrubs demanded, finally finding his voice.

 

“Not really,” Billy answered, setting the scalpel back on the gurney. “But I guess you could say we’re undercover.”

 

“Undercover?” one asked across the room, wiping his forehead before regaining his grip on his gun. He’d left a smear of someone else’s blood on his forehead. “For who?”

 

Billy glanced at Goodnight questioningly as though to ask _now?_ and Goodnight shrugged as though to reply _why not?_

 

And with a flex of their shoulders, two pairs of wings _burst_ from their jackets and the tent was instantly filled with a blinding light that had everyone throwing their hands up to their eyes, mouths opening in horror at the sight in front of them.

 

“YOUR ACTIONS HAVE BEEN SEEN AND HAVE BEEN JUDGED BY THE POWERS FROM ABOVE –” said the beam of piercing light with more eyes and arms and feathers, lifting into the air, throwing off dazzling rays from its form.

 

“- AND BELOW,” added the one with more teeth and legs and scales, a cloud of ash forming over what could have been its head.

 

“WE CONDEMN YOUR SOULS TO WHERE THEY BELONG –”

 

“AND HEREBY SMITE YOU WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE,” finished the scaly one, raising an anticipatory claw.

 

“BUT NOT BEFORE GIVING YOU A CHANCE TO HONESTLY REPENT AND SAVE YOUR SOULS,” the feathery one said, each of its five-thousand eyes giving the scaly one a pointed look.

 

“SERIOUSLY?” asked the scaly one. Its voice was like the crack of a million volcanoes bursting with fiery lava, but attentive listeners would have picked out a hint of exasperation.

 

“IT’S PROCEDURE,” said the feathery one, and its voice like a billion golden trumpets ringing out in judgment, there was a firm note of conviction.

 

“YOU KNOW, EVEN FOR AN ANGEL YOU CAN REALLY BE QUITE A STICK IN THE MUD SOMETI –”

 

“HUMANS!” bellowed the feathered one. “I AM GIVING YOU ONE CHANCE TO BEG FOR YOUR SOULS. SHOW ME SINCERE REGRET AND SORROW FOR YOUR ACTIONS, AND I WILL DELIVER YOUR SOULS TO SALVATION.”

 

“Please!” wailed one of the rogue doctors, all of whom had sunk to their knees, heads splitting at the heavenly and hellish display before them, driven mad by the voices in their minds. “We’re sorry! Truly! We are! Have mercy!”

 

There was a brief stillness in the tent, the two figures emanating a loud hum where they levitated. They turned to look at each other, and then back at the weeping humans.

 

“EH. THEY DON’T MEAN IT,” said the feathered one. “GOODY.”

 

The scaled one raised its hellish claw once more and a ghastly red light filled the tent, pulsing and undulating like a giant blood cell. And with one flick of a taloned finger, a piercing red light sliced through the room like a laser with a trillion watts. For one second the inside of the tent turned a red so blinding it could have been seen from space.

 

(It actually was seen from space, but the astronaut on duty, Mike Hansen, had been trying to see how far he could shine a toy laser pointer into space, and was needless to say, very surprised when he saw the pinprick of red light show up in the middle of one of the twinkling cities back on earth.)

 

And then the hellish light winked out, the figures vanished, and the two beings known as Billy and Goody appeared back in their coat and sunglasses, looking as unruffled as if they’d just picked up the milk. The organ smugglers lying on the floor looked unruffled too, but that was only because they were dead and nothing would ever ruffle them again.

 

“Not bad,” Goodnight said, brushing a piece of ozone off his shoulder. “Thought the eyes were a bit much myself.”

 

“Yeah well I know for a fact you don’t normally have as many teeth as that either,” said Billy calmly, adjusting his silver cufflinks.

 

“By the way, you didn’t really think they were going to honestly repent, did you?” asked Goodnight skeptically.

 

Billy shrugged. “Sometimes they do. Not a lot, but sometimes. Can’t hurt to ask.”

 

Goodnight rolled his eyes behind pitch-black lenses. “It’s not like you’d save their lives anyways. Just their souls.”

 

“Oh _just_ their souls,” Billy mocked gently, sending an admonishing look Goodnight’s way. “Besides, they’re your side’s now anyways. But speaking of lives…”

 

He strode over to the gurneys, six in total, each of them holding a dead body with slowly oozing incisions neatly cut over their vital regions. Billy closed his eyes – back down to their usual number of two – and waved a hand over them and –

 

“Wait,” Goodnight said suddenly. “What’s our story this time?”

 

Billy’s eyes flew open again. “Story?”

 

“For why you showed up. It’s my meeting tonight and they’re bound to ask. They’re getting better at detecting traces of Heavenly Discharge.”

 

Billy wrinkled his nose like the term held personal distaste for him. But he shrugged.

 

“Just tell them I showed up afterwards to Do Good. They won’t care, as long as they can trace the Smiting back to you.”

 

“Can they?” Goodnight asked uncertainly.

 

Billy looked at the bodies on the gurney, and then back at Goodnight. He sighed and beckoned Goodnight.

 

“Come here.”

 

Goodnight stepped immediately in front of him. Billy lifted his hand to take off Goodnight’s glasses without asking, and brown eyes met yellow. Billy closed his eyes, brushed his fingers over Goodnight’s temples, lips moving soundlessly. Goodnight closed his eyes too, a hitch in his breath, and a pulse of energy whisked over them both, thrumming through Goodnight’s veins, leaching into his aura, and –

 

“There,” Billy said, eyes opening again. “That should last you through the meeting.”

 

“Thanks,” Goodnight said, still swaying from the brief contact, Billy’s limitless power buzzing through him intoxicatingly. When he met with the Dukes of Hell after this, they’d feel the trace energy around him think it was Goodnight who had done any and all Smiting tonight. After all, who would suspect the Angel? The smugglers certainly hadn't. They'd been so horrified looking at Goodnight's demonic form raising its clawed hands that they hadn't even noticed that all the Smiting power had been coming from the Being at Goodnight's side.

 

Goodnight checked his watch, making sure he was running at least a little late. “I’ll see you after the meeting. Is it my turn to pick the movie tonight?”

 

Billy had turned back to the bodies about to bring them back to life, but he stopped again to give Goodnight a Pointed Look, like he hoped Goodnight knew it was inappropriate to prioritize movie choices over saving people’s lives. Goodnight did know that which was precisely why he’d said it. He might have been a pretty useless demon as far as actual _evil_ went. But he was still a demon.

 

“It…is,” Billy had to admit.

 

“Great,” Goodnight crowed. “Catwoman it is.”

 

Billy rolled his eyes. “Go to your meeting. And tell Vasquez and Faraday I say hi.”

 

The Heaven of the thing was, he sounded like he actually meant it.

 

“I will not,” Goodnight said firmly. “You’re already too much of a Good influence on them.”

 

Billy smirked. A decidedly unangelic expression, but it somehow made him look even more annoyingly attractive than he always did, wide mouth curled appealingly, dark eyebrows bunching in an amused crinkle…

 

“See you later,” Goodnight said, finally turning away.

 

“See you.”

 

Billy turned back to the bodies on the gurneys, closed his eyes once more, and waved a hand over them muttering in a language that hadn’t been heard since the first speck of light and the first speck of dark had collided in the infinite blackness of the universe and –

 

Each body on the gurney sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, hands reaching instinctively for wounds that were no longer there, as they had been neatly sewn up with a spool of miracles.

 

“There was a bus accident, and you all survived,” Billy’s calm voice was saying as they looked around with wide eyes. “You’re in the hospital right now. You’re going to lay back down and close your eyes, and when you wake up again you’ll be in your own beds, having made a full recovery…”

 

Goodnight turned away, back to the warm glow of gold the pulsed through the tent. He walked past a row of coolers whose tops had slid open revealing nothing inside, their contents having been miracled back inside their rightful owners.

 

Goodnight felt queasy in a way that had nothing to do with all the viscera he’d been exposed to. As far as gore went, illegal organ smuggling was nothing. Baby demons were given gorier than that in their pablum these days. He just wasn’t much looking forward to the meeting he had coming up. He’d had several millennia’s worth of debriefs, and for the past few he’d gotten bullshitting down to a science. But there was always that flicker of apprehension that one of these centuries, he’d finally be revealed for what he really was. A fraud.

 

But fraud or not, Goodnight couldn't be _too_ late. So he cast one last look back at Billy who was now bending over a shocked woman, murmuring in her ear, hair slipping over his cheeks, speaking quietly as her eyes slowly closed and she lay back down on the gurney, all that power that could be released as violently as a hurricane, or as gently as a breath. Hoping to harness some of that composure, Goodnight swallowed, place his sunglasses back over his tired yellow eyes, and walked out of the warehouse, Billy’s voice still whispering through his ears, and the traces of his Heavenly wrath still buzzing over Goodnight’s skin as he slid into the waiting Bentley and took off.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

The difference between the demon called Goodnight and the demons he was about to meet with was a matter of birth. You see, Goodnight hadn’t always been a demon. Once he’d been Adriel Azrael Lelial, Angel of Death, Wreaker of Retribution, Bringer of Night. Goodnight for short. A real, bonafide, honest-to-God angel, halo and all (no harp though, that was a myth, and anyway, Goodnight preferred the piano now).

 

But there was a new generation of demon that had been steadily on the rise for the past millennium now, and they had never been angels. They were homegrown, free-range demons, 100% organic Hellspawn. And that made them even more insufferably smug than demons already usually were.  Never mind that even the big guy, Lucifer, the horn’d one himself had been an angel himself once. The old guard of fallen-angel-demons were basically the royal family of Hell these days: quaint, high-ranking but no official power, still included in all official ceremonies, part of you would feel like something was missing if they weren’t there, but basically just a tourist trap.

 

To a New Age demon, no matter how hard or fast an angel falls to Hell, they’re still just that: an angel. And they never let the Old Guard of angel-turned-demon forget it.

  

Which was why when Goodnight strode into conference room he was greeted thusly:

 

“Hey, Angel.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Goodnight took a seat in one of the rolling chairs around a conference table big enough for twelve, but now only occupied by three. Himself, and two Dukes of Hell: Faraday and Vasquez. He chose not to dignify Faraday’s greeting of ‘Angel’ with a response. Faraday was just resentful that Goodnight had managed to be running the most late this time: an unofficial competition among most demons in order to assert mild demonic superiority. A horn swinging contest, if you will. 

 

“Evening, Goody,” said Vasquez, leaning back in his wheeled chair as comfortably as anyone managed to lean back in a wheeled chair.

 

“Evening,” Goodnight said taking a seat next to the demon. He was slightly more comfortable around Vasquez than Faraday, but only in the same way that he was slightly more comfortable around a Doberman than a Rottweiler.

 

“Well let’s get this started,” Vasquez said, as it was his turn to run the meeting. He snapped his fingers and a stack of binders appeared in front of each. “I’d like to propose we strike Item 4 from the agenda in the interests of time. Does anyone second the motion?”

 

“I think you actually have to call the meeting to order first,” Faraday said with a furrowed brow.

 

“Fine, I’d like to call this meeting to order,” Vasquez said, unperturbed.

 

“Second,” Faraday said.

 

“Pretty sure he has to _ask_ if anyone would like to second,” Goodnight said, looking between them. “No?”

 

“I’d-like-to-call-this-meeting-to-order-would-anyone-like-to-”

 

“Second,” Faraday and Goodnight said in unison.

 

“Okay, _now_ this meeting is called to order. I’d like to propose we strike Item 4 from the agenda. All those in favour say - _what_?” Vasquez asked Faraday who had lifted his hand.

 

“I think you need to open the floor to a vote first,” Faraday said easily.

 

“No, he has to make a motion first I think?” Goodnight asked.

 

“Can’t we just _vote_?”

 

Robert’s Rules had been invented by Heaven. Hell had made sure that no one could ever remember how they worked.

 

Finally, when the meeting was opened, and Item 4 had at last been struck from the agenda (literally struck. In fact Vasquez had smacked it so hard it had gone off scurrying for the nearest exit), they were ready to begin.

 

“Did everyone read the minutes from last time?” Vasquez asked.

 

“Yes,” lied Goodnight and Faraday, like all those who’d attended meetings before them, and all those who would come after them.

 

“That brings us to recent deeds. Faraday?” Vasquez asked, looking up from his notes at the demon.

 

“Caused an earthquake,” Faraday said with a grin. “Moved a couple tectonic plates around, and got a 7.0 out of it. Rebuilding is expected to take upwards of forty years. Maybe forty-five because of that forest fire that rolled through.”

 

“Good,” Vasquez said nodding, and making a note of it. “And I was the forest fire, actually. Made a man feel Sloth and he threw his cigarette away without checking to see if it was out. So he’s ours now too.”

 

“Sweet,” Faraday said, and he and Vasquez exchanged pleased looks that had Goodnight rolling his slit-like irises beneath the frames of his sunglasses.

 

“Goody, how about you?” Vasquez asked.

 

Goodnight fiddled with the cufflinks on his shirt. “Well I stopped an illegal organ smuggling ring just this evening.”

 

Both Faraday and Vasquez said: “ _Again?”_

“It needs doing!” protested Goodnight, spreading his hands. “Can we not all agree on that?”

 

The thing about the blackmarket for illegal organs is that while in theory it _should_ have been the kind of thing to meet with Hell’s effusive approval, it actually made things bloody difficult for Hell’s records.

 

You see back in the day, when there had been a better class of demon running around and tempting humanity, they actually knew how to go for the human’s _soul_. It had been a fine art, passed on from generation of fallen angel to generation of fallen angel. Not easy to get the soul right on the first try, but plant sufficient doubt into a human’s soul, and it’ll fester there for the rest of their life.

 

These days, however, very few demons were capable of getting a direct hit to the soul. They just didn’t have the same training as Goody’s generation. They’d gotten lazy, and complacent, and had forgotten all their technique. Corruption of the actual soul had become something of a lost art. So these days, when the newer and younger demons set out to Sway, Tempt, Corrupt, Curse, or otherwise Damn a human’s soul, more often than not they ended up hitting the left kidney.

 

And while this was not necessarily an issue as long as that newly-wanton kidney stayed within its own body, untracked organ donation undid everything. Made the bookkeeping a bloody nightmare.

 

“What’s this, the seventeenth one in…?”

 

“Two years,” Goodnight supplied helpfully. He’d made tracking down these smuggling rings something of an art. Also it was something Billy was willing to work with him on. So that was reason enough to keep doing it.

 

But Faraday’s lip just curled. “Lazy, much?”

 

“Excuse me?” Goodnight said, bristling.

 

“Well you always –”

 

“You want to talk about laziness?” Goodnight said incredulously, cutting Faraday off. “Then talk to the rest of your younger demon friends. They wouldn’t be able to find a soul if it sang Aretha Franklin to them. If they could corrupt properly then I wouldn’t have to go on cleanup duty to make sure everyone’s livers stay in their proper places to avoid our records and Heaven’s records getting mixed up.”

 

Both Heaven and Hell frowned upon illegal and legal organ donations for the same exact reason in that it messed with their books. But at least the legal organ donations kept records.

 

“No one is saying it’s not important work, Goody,” Vasquez said, smoothly intercepting the beginnings of a typical exchange of the 'heads butted' variety between Faraday and Goodnight. “What Faraday is saying is that it just doesn’t seem like you’ve been doing much smiting lately, does it?”

 

“In fact,” Goodnight said. “I smited…smote…them all just tonight.”

 

“Really?”

 

Vasquez frowned and leaned across the table to _sniff_ Goodnight who sat stock-still under the scrutiny, willing his heart to remain steady while Vasquez smelled him for traces of smiting. But whatever glamour Billy had cast over him must have still been working because Vasquez’s brow smoothed out and he leaned back in his chair with a shrug.

 

“Alright,” he said, making a note. “One organ harvesting ring disbanded and six souls secured for our Master. Fine by me.”

 

Faraday, however, was still eyeing Goodnight with a piercing look, his eyes the same green as the bog fires back in Hell.

 

“Funny thing though,” Faraday said. “We’ve got reports of a Heavenly Discharge occurring right around the time you were doing this supposed smiting.”

 

“Ah yes, that was probably Billy,” Goodnight said somewhat uncomfortably. “He showed up after to miracle the organs back into their proper bodies. That discharge you detected was probably him”

 

“Billy?” Faraday asked, both he and Vasquez sitting up straight.

 

“Yeah, he wanted to set everyone and their organs right,” Goodnight said, tugging at his collar. “And I figured it couldn’t hurt, I mean we already have the souls of the perpetrators, and if he put the organs back it _would_ save all of us a lot of time.”

 

But neither Vasquez or Faraday were paying attention to the details.

 

“How is he?” Vasquez demanded.

 

Goodnight sighed internally.

 

“He’s Good. Well I mean. Obviously.”

 

“Did you hear about how he wiped out that entire group of arms merchants the other month?” Faraday asked Vasquez eagerly.

 

“Yeah I hear everyone actually melted?”

 

“Man,” Faraday said shaking his head. “I mean professionally speaking he should have let them get on with it, but _still_. You know how much supernatural force goes into total liquification? What a waste of an angel.”

 

Goodnight sighed again. Uncanny it was, the way all demons seemed to be so impressed by Billy. At least Goodnight had the best of excuses in that he and Billy had spent the last several millennia working together, and actually had a rapport at this point. Goodnight got along with Billy because it had been much more natural than _not_ getting along with Billy.

 

“Anyway, enough catching up,” Vasquez said, snapping his fingers. A binder appeared on the table before him. “We need to discuss the upcoming Heaven and Hell Symposium.”

 

“Ugh. Is it just me or do we have these all the time now?” Faraday griped.

 

In fact these symposiums only occurred once a century. But in demon-years that feels pretty much bi-weekly.

 

“As you know, this century’s topic is ‘The Internet: Navigating the World-Wide Web as Cosmological-Wide beings’,” Vasquez read off his binder before looking up at Goodnight. “And once again, Goody, Hell really can’t commend you enough for the Internet. Excellent work there.”

 

Goodnight nodded in acknowledgement while Faraday grumbled to himself.

 

“But as you know, very few demon ambassadors have any technical training these days,” Vasquez continued. “And Heaven has gradually come to accept the fact that even though the Internet was our side’s idea, it’s not going anywhere. They want to be in on monitoring it too. So this century’s topic was chosen as just the kind of inter-celestial-collaboration we look for in these conferences.”

 

(The 18th century’s topic had been ‘Bathing: Support or Suppress’, the 19th century’s had been ‘Electricity and Endtimes-Implications’, and the 20th century’s had been ‘Let’s Just Watch This One Play Out and Regroup in 99’.)

 

“It’ll be a week of conferences, and Goody, you’ll be leading most of the training sessions for the Angels,” Vasquez said. “Any last-minute things you want to double-check?”

 

They spent the next hour going over whether the Angels’ nametags would be spelled correctly (no), whether the chairs would be comfortable (also no), and whether the cafeteria would have any decent vegetarian options (of course not). Just because they were planning a conference in the spirit of bipartisanship with the angels didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun with it. The angels had almost certainly planned ice-breaking activities and singalongs just to mess with the demons too.

 

By the end of the meeting Goodnight’s eyes were a particularly tired shade of yellow, and the cluttering of Robert’s Rules was drilling into his brain. Finally Vasquez called the meeting to a close (“don’t you have to make a motion to close it?” – Faraday), they all got to their feet, and Vasquez and Faraday dematerialized back to Hell in twin sulphury puffs of smoke that had Goodnight wincing. That was one plus side to working from Earth rather than in Hell: on the whole it tended to smell better.

 

He left the building, clicking his key fob once. His car was surprised to find itself suddenly parked right in front of Goodnight, but Goodnight just slid in with a tired sigh, and leaned back as his car took him off on the quickest route to Billy’s and whatever drink would be on offer there. Goodnight just closed his eyes and prayed - as much as he was demonically capable of praying - that Billy had gotten the good stuff.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’ve got the good stuff.”

 

“Thank Satan,” Goodnight said as he walked through Billy’s front door. The wards in the doorframe twitched morosely at the demon’s entrance, but Billy shot them a look and they stilled. They still weren’t pleased about having to allow access to a demon, but after receiving several severe talking-tos from Billy about the concept of company, at least they now let Goodnight in with only a minimum of righteous indignation.

 

Goodnight tossed his obscenely tailored suit jacket in the direction of the coatrack that bent itself sideways to catch it (the coatrack liked Goodnight better than the wards, probably because of all the expensive fabric it got draped in whenever Goodnight came over).

 

Goodnight fairly slithered over to the couch where he immediately collapsed into its leather folds, leaning back and closing his eyes.

 

“Good meeting then?” Billy asked from the kitchen, amused by the display. No one could do ‘I’m The Weariest Soul That’s Ever Lived In All The Realms’ quite like a demon, and very few demons could do it as well as Goody.

 

“Eh, it was fine,” Goodnight said. “Just long. Practically an hour.”

 

Demons were actually quite good at organizing meetings. But sitting through them without getting bored was another story. Billy guessed that it hadn’t been Goodnight’s turn to run the meeting, judging by his fatigued display.

 

“Symposium prep meeting, right?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Our side’s was about twenty-six hours,” Billy mused, locating the bottle he’d been looking for. “Patience being a virtue, and all that.”

“Yeah well, you’re gonna need it for this conference,” Goodnight replied. “How many of your side can even tell a keyboard from a mouse?”

 

“Raphael might,” Billy said thoughtfully. “But that’s because he spent a week volunteering as a typist in sixty-three.”

 

“So then two,” Goodnight said glumly. He suddenly sat up frowning. “What’s taking so long over there?”

 

“Some things can’t be rushed,” Billy said, calmly pouring out two tumblers of whisky. There were about five bottles of this kind left in the world, and Billy poured this one without spilling a drop. Which was just as well, since at $150, 000 for one bottle of the thirty-nine, the drops went for about ten dollars each.

 

He brought the glasses over to the couch, and Goodnight immediately perked up, letting out a hiss of approval.

 

“Oh well chosen.”

 

He reached eagerly for one of the glasses, but Billy held Goodnight’s glass out of reach, nodding pointedly towards Goody’s legs which were propped up on his smooth, teak coffee table.

 

“Feet.”

 

Goodnight obligingly lifted his feet and Billy handed him a glass, sitting down next to him. Goodnight peered into the glass, the liquid shimmering a deep, rich amber, that wavered in the reflection of Goodnight’s dark glasses like a candleflame.

 

“Very good,” Goodnight said, examining the smooth whorls of the whisky as it settled. “The thirty-nine?”

 

“Mm hmm.”

 

Goodnight let out a sigh of pleasure. “See, this is why you’re my favourite.”

 

It was a good thing that Goodnight was still absorbed in the contents of his glass, as he definitely would have noticed the twin red spots that had appeared on the angel’s cheeks, but that could have just been the liquid throwing out ruby reflections.

 

Billy cleared his throat.

 

“To patience,” he said, lifting his glass.

 

“May we never have to wait for it,” Goodnight said with a sharp grin. Billy snorted and took his first sip of whisky, humming in pleasure. The faded, peeling label that promised ‘a woody blend of spice, fruit, and crème brulee’ wasn’t kidding.

 

“Cursed Spawn of Satan, that’s good,” Goodnight breathed, forked tongue fluttering as he licked a stray drop off his lips.

 

“So how was the meeting?” Billy asked again.

 

“The usual,” Goodnight said, taking another sip of the whisky. He paused as he lowered the glass though, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. “Thanks, by the way. You know, for making it look like it was me who –”

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

They fell into silence and Billy chanced a look at Goodnight who was picking at an imaginary stray hair on his cuffs.

 

“You know, it’s not like it doesn’t help me out too,” Billy said in pointed but gentle reassurance. Because Goodnight could still get so embarrassed over the fact that he was reluctant to smite anyone. Even though Billy had been more than willing to smite people on Goodnight’s behalf for several millennia now

 

It wasn’t that Goodnight was _unable_ to smite people anymore. Just unwilling. He claimed it was because it made no real difference in Hell’s numbers in the long run, and that it was more effective to sow temptation rather than tyranny. And while that may have been true, Billy had long-suspected another reason: Goodnight just didn’t want to Fall further than he already had.

 

Goodnight played it off well, but there was no denying that he had always seemed somewhat embarrassed by his fall from Heavenly Grace. As though he’d done something to be ashamed of. When really, the whole original division of Heavenly bodies that had fractured Heaven into separate factions had been a fairly routine disagreement over how much knowledge to give humans. Those who had disagreed had left to set up camp Elsewhere, which was now more commonly known as Hell.

 

(It’s said, though not confirmed, that the nickname of Hell was coined by a demon who was prone to dropping his Hs, and H’Eslewhere gradually became H’Else which gradually became Hell)

 

It was only much later that Hell had gone the whole ‘evil’ route, with the fallen-angels having gotten carried away with their new liberty. But Goodnight had always shown a certain discomfort with their antics, and squirmed uncomfortably when having to discuss his Hellish peers. Like someone’s relatives who show up uninvited to Thanksgiving, used outdated, offensive terms, talked with their mouths full, and ate all the food.

 

If Goodnight was embarrassed by his associates, then Billy didn’t mind letting him save face there. It wasn’t like Billy hadn’t grown uncomfortable with the state of Heaven these days either. Maybe once Heaven had stood for a higher ideal. Something worthy to aspire to. But over time the place had become so hypocritical, in Billy’s view. There was little tolerance for the morally grey, and far too much tolerance for the morally black. Some people on earth, who truly deserved a good smiting were given far too many chances. It made Billy’s sense of justice practically steam out his ears some days.

 

And well, that was where Billy and Goodnight’s Agreement came in. Together they would find souls who deserved to be smote, Billy would get to exercise some of the Heavenly Vengeance that boiled through him, and Goodnight would get to take the credit so as to stay in Hell’s good books. Or bad books. Whatever books they kept demonic deeds in, Goodnight was able to remain present in an unsuspicious amount of entries.

 

And then of course there was the other reason Billy would have done just about anything for Goody. But that reason generally took a few more bottles for Billy to even think about thinking about.

 

“I loaded your stupid movie by the way,” Billy said.

 

“Yesss,” Goodnight said, immediately perking up as he lifted his fists aloft. “My turn.”

 

“That means you have to get up and get the food,” Billy said.

 

“You couldn’t have brought it in with the drinks?” Goodnight griped on principle. But he was already jumping to his feet with renewed energy and striding to the kitchen, pressing a couch cushion into Billy’s face as he passed. Probably in retaliation for ‘stupid movie’.

 

Movies had become one of their favourite past times of the twenty-first century. In 700 BC they’d watched tragedies unfold in the Ancient Greek theatre of Epidaurus. They’d eaten roasted chestnuts in the open air of the Globe while watching As You Like It. And in this century they had Tivo.

 

With video on demand, however, came a staggering amount of choices. So they took turns watching movies that each of their sides had been responsible for, or at least had sanctioned. Billy shown Goodnight Casablanca, while Goodnight had made Billy sit through all of Gone With the Wind. Billy chose Disney marathons, while Goodnight made them binge all the James Bonds. And in the nineties, Billy’s side had made Mrs. Doubtfire, while Goodnight’s had been responsible for Forrest Gump.

 

Yes, Forrest Gump. Any movie that good-natured was clearly hiding something.

 

Billy clicked one of the many buttons on the sleek remote. He wasn’t even sure if he’d gotten the right one, but since the movie’s main menu was what he’d been expecting to appear, that’s what happened. Catwoman popped up on the screen, crouched on a fire escape in an anatomically unlikely position for that amount of lycra, and the soundtrack filtered through Billy’s speakers, punctuated by the occasional yowl of a cat who was presumably in heat, or perhaps had had its tail trodden on. Billy eyed the screen warily. The last superhero movie Goodnight had made them watch was Batman and Robin, and Billy still had the occasional flashback.

 

Goodnight reappeared from the kitchen with a platter of sushi, a bowl of artisanal crisps, and an appropriately demonic smile when he saw the screen.

 

“I’ve heard this movie is _awful_ ,” he gloated.

 

Billy just sighed and settled in.

 

*

 

 

“I’m just saying, cats will never take over because they don’t _want_ to take over.”

 

“You never know –”

 

“No, you _do_ know!”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“No, I mean you do know that you don’t.”

 

“…what.”

 

Goodnight poured himself another drink with one hand, and gestured patiently with the other.

 

“Look,” he said with the air of one about to bestow Great Wisdom. “Forget knowing. I just mean that cats –”

 

Billy pointed wordlessly to one that had just appeared on the screen.

 

“Yes. Those. I don’t think they’ll take over, and I don’t think you think they will either.”

 

“You nev –”

 

“Oh don’t say you never know again, so help me Satan,” Goodnight groaned. He leaned over and swiped at Billy who let out an ‘mmph’ of protest as he dodged it, mid-sip in his somethingthed glass of whiskey that night.

 

“I could have spilled,” Billy said.

 

“You don’t spill. And you don’t think cats will take over either.”

 

“I don’t,” Billy finally relented, wiping his mouth.

 

“Darn right you don’t,” Goodnight agreed sternly. “And besides. The fact of the matter is, they don’t even _want_ to take over.”

 

While Heaven had certainly been responsible for dogs, neither side could claim a patent on cats. No one was entirely sure where they’d come from, but ‘alien race’ was the generally accepted consensus these days.

 

“And anyways,” Goodnight said, leaning back into the cushions. “Would you want to take over if you were a cat?”

 

“I wouldn’t,” Billy said. He paused. “But you never –”

 

Goodnight _lunged_ for Billy who allowed himself to be pushed back laughing against the couch while they grappled. When Heaven and Hell had first placed them on Earth so that they could act as immortal enemies and fight each other at every opportunity, playfighting during movie credits while almost knocking over bowls of gourmet crisps and sushi platters was probably not what either side had had in mind.

 

Finally Billy gently zapped Goody with a burst of Holy Intentions and Goody grimaced as he rolled up.

 

“No fair.”

 

“You attacked me.”

 

“Not like you didn’t have it coming.”

 

Billy gave a self-satisfied smile and reached for their tumblers, pouring them out two more glasses.

 

“I’d have thought that would be empty by now,” Goodnight commented idly as he watched the golden liquid slosh into the glass, swaying slightly where he sat.

 

“Angel’s Share.”

 

“Right. Almost forgot who I was talking to.”

 

No matter how well-sealed a barrel of whiskey is, it’s impossible to stop a certain percentage of the liquid from evaporating. Early distillers used to be baffled by the amount of whiskey that would disappear from their barrels each year, and decided that it must have been the angels taxing them so that they could have some of the drink for themselves. Thus, the amount of whiskey that disappeared each year became known as the ‘Angel’s Share’. Superstitious brewers still accredited the millions of gallons lost every year to angels taxing them. More unbelievably still, they were right.

 

“It’s better off with us,” was how Billy had rationalized this mischief before, and how he did again now as he passed the glass over to Goodnight.

 

“Aren’t we all, Angel,” Goodnight drawled and took a sip. He smiled, almost to himself. “Aren’t we all.”

 

He leaned back against the sofa, dark glasses pushed up and mussing his overly-gelled hair. His eyes, now revealed, were the same burning gold as the whiskey as he regarded Billy with that lazy, private smile.

 

Billy swallowed. Because it had now been enough bottles later for him to internally admit to the other reason he’d do anything for Goody, and that was of course the fact that he was truly, madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with him, for better or for worse. Consciously he'd known this for about a millennia now, but subconsciously, well, how old was the earth again?

 

It only occasionally caused Billy internal guilt, keeping this from his closest friend/adversary/whatever. Angels were supposed to be honest, and here was Billy, lying by omission every day to the one Being who ever treated Billy without an agenda of any kind. Humans treated Billy with an excess of prostration, awe, or squirrelly piety. Other angels treated Billy with rigid grace and exhausting politics. Even demons treated Billy with a kind of twitchy awe, aware of his abilities. But Goodnight treated Billy with movie nights, arguments, sushi, a wonderfully blasé indifference to Billy’s angelicism, and most importantly, genuine company. And Billy wasn’t about to risk the best company he had for his own selfish desires.

 

 

But it was getting exhausting frankly, especially on evenings like this, with Goodnight there, close enough to touch, teasing Billy in a way no one else ever dared to, shoulders almost touching, lips stretched in a whiskey-slick smile as he looked at Billy with those mesmerizing yellow eyes that swirled with more golden fire and solar flares than the surface of the sun…

 

Billy steeled himself. If, and  _if_ he were to ever consider such a development, it would be after this upcoming Symposium and not a second before. It had been a while since Billy had spent any significant time amongst angels, and Billy wanted to feel out the current political energy before even thinking of putting Goodnight in a Heavenly crossfire. At least that's what Billy kept telling himself.

 

“So when do you want to leave?” Billy asked, abruptly switching topics.

 

“Tonight?” Goodnight said, lips tugging down uncertainly like he thought Billy wanted him out of there.

 

“No,” Billy said, probably too quickly, and Goodnight relaxed. “For the Symposium.”

 

“Oh right,” Goodnight said. “Where is it again?”

 

“Texas. Just outside of Austin.”

 

The Symposiums were traditionally held in a neutral place. Hell had initially been responsible for Texas, but Heaven had been responsible for Austin. So at this point it was considered neutral territory.

 

“You and I aren’t allowed to miracle ourselves there,” Billy reminded him. “We have to ‘set the Earthly example’. So if we plan on taking an ocean liner to the States, and then a train out to the desert, then we should give ourselves at least a week to –”

 

At this point Goodnight slumped back against the sofa howling with laughter at Billy. He looked over at Billy again as though confirming what he’d heard, and then was clutching his stomach, continuing to laugh. Billy bristled, even through the warmth he felt whenever he saw Goody laugh, even when it was at his own expense.

 

_“What.”_

Goodnight straightened up, wiping away tears that hissed and evaporated on contact with the air.

 

“Set the Earthly example?” He asked with a huge grin. “When was the last time you travelled? Who on earth takes an _ocean_ liner anymore?”

 

He set off cackling again while Billy reached for his whiskey, annoyed at his slip. When you’ve seen every technological advancement, it was hard to keep the current ones straight.

 

“Ocean liner,” Goodnight said again, taking deep breaths. “What is this, nineteen-eleven? I feel like I’m on the Titanic again.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Billy said, disgruntled. “So how are we getting there?”

 

Goodnight had finally stopped laughing, but he was grinning in a way that Billy didn’t like, and his stomach sank.

 

“Oh no.”

 

“Oh yes,” Goodnight said triumphantly. “You and I, my friend…are going to the _airport_.”

 

He punctuated this last word as though brandishing a pitchfork, eyes gleaming in anticipation.

 

“But I _hate_ flying.”

 

There was a beat.

 

“You have _wings_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term 'Angel Share' for evaporating whiskey is a real thing, and I was only too delighted when I discovered it for this fic.
> 
> Also the idea of Forrest Gump being a Hell-approved movie was inspired by Anthony Lane's 1994 movie review, in which he called it 'so insistently heartwarming it chilled me to the marrow." I like to think Goodnight sent him a case of champagne.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

 

The screen of flights flickered once, blue and fluorescent, and then, like cascading dominoes, the list of departure times all flipped over one after the other to read DELAYED in indifferent, red letters.

 

A chorus of groans arose from the passengers who’d been standing , searching for their flight numbers, suitcases by their feet.

 

Goodnight’s grin was as quick as mercury and twice as poisonous.

 

“ _Airports,_ ” he breathed almost rapturously.

 

Billy raised an eyebrow at the screen from where he stood beside Goodnight, trying to avoid be jostled by the hurrying travellers around them.

 

“I’m assuming that was you?”

 

“Maybe,” Goodnight said, hoisting his duffel bag to his shoulder and adjusting his silver aviators which winked at Billy in a metallic flash.

 

“So yes,” Billy said, shaking his head at Goodnight while another group of people let out sounds of irritation when they saw the screen.

 

Goodnight just grinned again. “Let’s go.”

 

They made their way towards security, and joined the long lines of people organizing their effects and getting ready to walk through the x-ray machines. The lines moved briskly to the front, and Billy readied his personal items, keys, phone, liquids already sealed in a plastic bag, jacket shrugged off and folded neatly, and shoes easily slipped off. Goodnight watched everyone’s efficiency with a practice eye. This would never do.

 

“Does my phone count as an electronic?” he asked the girl working security, with a huge smile that showed all his teeth.

 

The girl had been rattling off her practiced patter of security protocol, and faltered only for a moment, her brief expression of ‘you have got to be kidding me’ replaced smoothly with professionalism once more.

 

“Please place your phone in the small tray, sir, and any other laptops or recording devices should be stored separately. If you have any liquids –”

 

“Oh I completely forgot this water bottle,” Goodnight exclaimed, extracting it from the depths of his bag. “Is it alright if I just drink it now?”

 

He saw Billy shake his head at him as he moved through the X-ray machine one line over, all coins conscientiously removed from his person in advance. Meanwhile a line was beginning to form behind Goodnight.

 

“Oh, shoes too?” Goodnight asked, feigning surprise. “Hang on, there are a lot of laces…”

 

By the time Goodnight had finished untangling his motorcycle boots from his feet, the security attendant looked ready to cry.

 

“Sunglasses, sir,” she said, practically in a plea.

 

Goodnight paused and turned back. He flicked his shades up to his forehead, enjoying the way she recoiled.

 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, do you?” he asked, winking one yellow eye at her. His sunglasses dropped back to his nose and he sauntered cheerily through the x-rays, and just as cheerily removed the many coins and stray paper clips from his pockets.

 

By the time he reached Billy on the other side of security it had been about thirty minutes, and Goodnight had left a rippling wake of anxiety and annoyance behind him.

 

“Airports,” Goodnight revered once more, a satisfied smile in place.

 

“Cause enough bad days yet?” Billy just asked him, as dry as the recycled air all around them.

 

“Not quite,” Goodnight said brightly. “But I’d settle for some overpriced coffee instead.”

 

Billy rolled his eyes but there were the stirrings of a smile on his face. “Come on.”

 

They made their way past the gates, through the hordes of people travelling today, some rushing frantically to make flights, others waiting with glazed eyes and sore limbs at their gates, and most everyone struggling with their luggage. Airports were a hotbed of stress, boredom, selfishness, urgency, and fatigue all at once, not to mention an healthy amount of dehydration. They were also one of Goodnight’s favourite places in the world, and one of his proudest achievements.

 

An older woman tripped over someone’s carelessly-placed luggage and was about to be sent sprawling to the tiled floor. But a quick-thinking young man dashed forward and was able to catch her and help her to her feet. He then looked at his hands in surprise, as though amazed by their momentarily supernatural reflexes.

 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Goodnight said to Billy with a sigh.

 

Billy flexed his fingers, unbothered.

 

“Someone’s spending five dollars on a water bottle over there. Your track record is fine.”

 

Goodnight twisted his neck at the gift shop they passed. “Aw, what a sport. I should thank her.”

 

“You should pay for her water,” Billy suggested. “Honestly, I don’t think you could have packed more bad intentions passing as ‘law and order’ in this place if you tried.”

  
“Thank you,” Goodnight said seriously.

 

Billy snorted. “Anytime.”

 

“But,” Goodnight said magnanimously, “Credit where credit is due. Most of this stuff is all their idea.”

 

They swerved to avoid a hurrying traveller, and Goodnight continued.

 

“I’m telling you, Billy, humans are only too willing to dig their own graves if you just pass them the shovel.”

 

“Not all of them,” Billy said reasonably. “There will always be the ones who look at a bad situation and manage to see the opportunity for heroism in it. Take pilots for example.”

 

“What about them?”

 

“Well you’ve placed them in the middle of all this haste, conceit, and stress,” Billy said, waving his hand to encompass the airport in general. “But they’ll never let it get to them because they know how important their job is. They’ll stay focused and professional no matter what.”

 

“Pilots,” Goodnight said disparagingly. “They’re not nearly as pure or impressive as your side wanted them to be.”

 

“Our side invented Sully,” Billy pointed out, undeterred.

 

Goodnight just shrugged.

 

“Our side invented geese.”

 

Billy burst out into a genuine laugh and glanced over at Goodnight, eyes crinkling in real amusement, and Goodnight glowed the way he always did when he could startle Billy into that goofy, unguarded grin Goodnight privately treasured.

 

“There’s a café,” he said, gesturing to one up ahead, still rather pleased with himself.

 

They grabbed a table outside the packed cafe, settled in to watch the people go by, and drank their coffee in companionable silence, killing time before their flight.

 

But when it was time to board (theirs was the only flight in the airport that was on time that day, of course) Goodnight noticed Billy looking a lot less relaxed.

 

“You alright?” he asked while they squeezed onto the plane and found their seats in first class, because twenty-eight inch seats were for other people.

 

“Fine,” Billy said, even though his face looked drawn.

 

Goodnight squinted doubtfully, but he leaned back in the wide, plush chair, and began experimenting with his personal TV screen, enjoying the envious stares of those flying coach as they spawned towards the back of the plane, where’d they stay for the next ten hours.

 

It wasn’t until Billy failed to generously offer to swap seats with one of the unfortunate coach dwellers that Goodnight became concerned.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Billy said defiantly, and then immediately flinched when the plane rumbled to life with a deafening acceleration of the engines.

 

“You…”

 

Goodnight’s eyes widened in shocked comprehension.

 

“You really don’t like flying do you?”

 

“It’s not that, I –”

 

“You actually don’t like flying!” Goodnight said, still shocked, but guilty dismay seeping through. “I thought you were _kidding_!”

 

“Just take offs and landings,” Billy mumbled, fingers clenched around his armrest in a white-knuckled grip. The plane lurched forward and he bit his lip hard.

 

“But you’re an _angel_!” Goodnight said, still trying to make sense of this, and realizing maybe he never had taken a plane with Billy before. “You can fly!”

 

“It’s different,” Billy snapped. “My wings can move. These ones just… _stay_ there.”

 

Goodnight was at a loss. He could have explained the physics of air travel, or he could have explained the extremely low statistics of airplane accidents, or he could have explained that Billy was an angel who – in the event of a plane crash – could just _miracle everybody out of there anyways._

But Billy was nothing if not an extremely rational being, and certainly knew all this already, and therefore any anxiety he was carrying was probably more sensory than that.

 

“Okay look, it’s fine,” Goodnight tried out. He hesitated, and then reached out and tentatively placed his hand in the middle of Billy’s upper back. He rubbed his thumb in between the shoulder blades as though soothing the wings that were probably vibrating with the need to burst out and take over from the plane.

 

Billy turned to look at him but Goodnight kept his hand where it was.

 

“Have you seen the movie selection on these things?” Goodnight asked, reaching toward Billy’s screen and indifferently magicked them out of the mandatory security briefing, replacing the image of passengers in the event of a water landing with the movie screen.

 

“Look, drama, historical drama, crime, comedy, crime comedy…ooh they even have classics.”

 

Billy turned to look at the screen and made a motion to click one, but flinched when the plane jolted as it gained speed.

 

“I’ll let you choose the movie even though it’s my turn,” Goodnight said blithely, and that was enough to have Billy whip his head around incredulously.

 

“It is _not,_ ” he said, practically offended.

 

“Isn’t it?” Goodnight asked, screwing up his forehead as though in deep thought. Billy stared at him in disbelief.

 

“We _just_ watched Catwoman, or were you somehow forgetting that?” he demanded. “Because _I_ haven’t. That was the, and I mean the worst movie you’ve _ever_ showed me, even worse than Fire Maidens from Outer Space. Even worse than Santa Clause Conquers the Martians. Even worse than…”

 

He continued to rattle of a list of Goodnight’s least hits, and then broke off in the middle of An American Hippie in Israel as he looked around the cabin in confusion, realizing they’d long since broken through the clouds, and were now cruising at a steady altitude with the sunshine streaming in through the windows.

 

Goodnight had removed his hand from Billy’s back and was now calmly pouring out two glasses of water. He peered at their contents, then flicked them with his nail, and a deep red began slowly diffusing through the glass, gradually replacing the water with a nice Bordeaux.

 

“Care to taste?” he asked, passing one to Billy.

 

Billy cleared his throat and sat up straighter, taking the glass, not quite meeting Goodnight’s eyes.

 

“Thanks,” he muttered, not for the wine.

 

“Don’t thank me yet, I was aiming for a sixty-four, but I may have skipped a year,” Goodnight said of the wine’s vintage.

 

Billy’s lip twisted up in a smile as he regarded the contents.

 

“There’s a trick I haven’t seen in a while,” he commented. “Pretty Biblical, no?”

 

“Of course,” Goodnight said. “Who do you think taught Jesus that one in the first place?”

 

Billy huffed out a laugh, and thirty-thousand feet up in the air, two glasses clinked together.

 

*

 

Twelve hours, four classic movies, and two bottles worth of wine later, Goodnight and Billy had landed, sobered up, and smoothly arranged a car rental. They were now speeding down a dusty highway that was taking them out of Austin and further out into the desert.

 

“I love what you guys did with timezones,” Goodnight said, flicking up his sunglasses and contentedly letting the hot sun beat down on his face.

 

“Thought your side wanted a standard world clock, and the subsequent frustration of three-quarters of the world having to eat lunch in the middle of the night,” Billy said, glancing at the road signs.

 

“Well it would have been funny,” Goodnight admitted. “But just think…we leave London in the sunshine, and ten hours later…still sunshine.”

 

“Gonna find a nice rock in the desert to curl up on?” Billy quipped as he eased into the next lane.

 

Goodnight propped his feet up on the dash and grinned.

 

“Snake at heart, Angel.”

 

Billy snorted in a way that told Goodnight he wasn’t buying it. But before Goodnight could be offended, Billy glanced over him. He’d put on sunglasses as well, and his hair whipped around his forehead from the cracked window in the jeep, and sun streamed into the car, wreathing Billy in pale, glowing ribbons of light.

 

“Snakes have more heart than people think,” Billy said quietly.

 

Goodnight couldn’t see Billy’s eyes, but the note of fierce conviction in Billy’s voice seemed to pierce straight into his chest, and it was a good thing Goodnight didn’t _have_ to breathe, because he’d suddenly forgotten how.

 

Billy turned back to focus on the road and Goodnight shifted to watch the landscape pass them by, green scrub and brown dust rolling by in an cinnamon flash.

 

“That’s Driftwood,” Goodnight said half an hour later, breaking the silence. “Take the next right.”

 

Billy nodded and turned the wheel, sending the jeep onto a smaller road that bumped and rattled them away from the small town, further out into the desert where the conference was waiting for them.

 

They reached a low, sprawling complex of white, modern, high-tech buildings that looked supremely out of place among their dusty, rustic surroundings, and so brilliantly new they could have been erected overnight. Which they had.

 

Billy swung the jeep into a parking area that had been roped off, and Goodnight noted with some satisfaction that theirs was one of the few cars amidst the rows of coach busses. So few demons or angels bothered learning how to drive, and unable to miracle themselves to the location, they’d been forced to share busses like kids on a field trip.

 

“Come on,” Billy said, opening the car door, and they jumped out of the jeeps, boots landing firmly on the loose dirt. They grabbed their bags and walked towards the conference centre. Billy pushed open the doors and Goodnight found himself holding his breath, not knowing what to expect.

 

In the end their entry was rather anticlimactic. Only a few beings were milling around in the wide lobby, everyone else off presumably getting settled in. Goodnight and Billy exchanged glances and shrugged, making their way to the long table with a banner that read ‘Welcome to the 601st Heaven and Hell Symposium: Navigating the World Wide Web as Cosmological Wide Beings’. Goodnight noted with some amusement that the banner had been hand-drawn, as there weren’t many angels or demons who could operate a printer. He made a mental note to add that to his introductory seminar the next day.

 

“Hiwelometotheheavenandhellsymposiumcanitakeyournamesplease –oh hi, Billy,” said the angel manning the desk. She wasn’t one Goodnight recognized but he knew her to be an angel, not because of any physical marker but because to angels and demons, recognizing each other was as immediate as distinguishing between cats and dogs. Both breeds might have had a lot of differences within them, but you could still tell what _species_ they were.

 

“Hi, Afriel,” Billy said, finding a nametag. “Where is everyone?”

 

“Well only the angels are here so far,” the angel said, sliding her eyes over to Goodnight none too subtly. There was an empty chair next to her which Goodnight assumed was for the demon on the welcoming committee. “And they’re all trying to arrange their rooms as much as possible before the demons get here and all our rooms get messier.”

 

Well that was a bit rich, if you asked Goodnight. He was willing to admit demons accumulated a lot of clutter, but they weren’t actually _dirty_. Whereas angel dwellings, despite being arranged in pristine golden ratios everywhere, didn’t actually get scrubbed down all that often. Billy wasn’t as bad as the rest, but Goodnight had seen his shower and had noted the levels of shampoo buildup in the corners.              

 

Billy was frowning. "What do you mean, our rooms?" 

 

“Yeah, new decision,” the angel said, passing them both nametags, avoiding touching Goodnight’s fingers. “Conference centre turned out smaller than anticipated and we can’t use magic anymore to change it. So we’re all sharing rooms. Angels and demons together. The Powers That Be felt it was in keeping with the spirit of the whole thing.”

 

She spoke brightly but the words seemed forced, like she was trying to convince herself.

 

“Can we choose our own rooms?” Billy asked, and he and Goodnight were looking hopefully at each other. If they could share, then this whole ordeal might actually be tolerable.

 

But the angel just let out an ungainly laugh.

 

“Good one, Billy. But no way that would work. Let’s see, you’re with…Belphegor. And Goodnight you’re with Jophiel.”

 

Goodnight groaned internally. He vaguely remembered Jophiel, one of the most boring angels he’d ever met. Even by heaven’s standards.

 

“Thanks, Afriel,” Billy said, and they took their room keys, moving away from the angel who was still looking around, wondering when the demon would get here who was supposed to help her greet everyone.

 

Goodnight was about to ask Billy if he fancied finding the cafeteria in this place, when two harried looking angels came rushing over tugging at Billy’s arms.

 

“Billy? Thank god you’re here. Some of the angels are refusing to room with demons, and –” they continued to rattle off a list of reasons as to why this would be a PR catastrophe for their side if it got out, and Billy needed to help them, he’d met demons before, he could help convince them…

 

They didn’t take any notice of Goodnight, just kept trying to tug Billy along. Billy glanced apologetically at Goodnight who just jerked his head at him in a _go_ motion, and Billy was pulled away by the angels, intermittently jostled by both their gesticulations and their clipboards.

 

Goodnight put his hands in his pockets and looked around the lobby, suddenly feeling very exposed. The interior of the main building was as crisply white as the outside, and there were signs everywhere indicating where the cafeteria, elevators, bathrooms, and dorms were located. It reminded Goodnight of a college orientation session, but cleaner.

 

The other reason he felt exposed was that he was the only demon there so far.

 

He glanced around and saw a number of familiar faces from his angel days, but those faces were mostly turned to each other while they whispered, nodding their heads meaningfully in Goodnight’s direction.

 

Goodnight squirmed uncomfortably. He’d never liked the angel propensity for gossip when he’d been one, and he liked it even less now, knowing that the bodies around him were probably whispering about his Fall. _There’s Goodnight, remember him? Didn’t think he’d go wrong, but goes to show, you never can tell._

Goodnight deliberately scowled in the direction of two younger looking angels who’d been staring at him with wide, dewy eyes. Definitely newer angels. Probably never even seen a demon before.

 

 _Screw you_ , he thought. _Never liked your little club anyways._

 

“Goody?”

 

He whirled around and came face to face with Samael, Archangel of Death, Venom of God, Accuser and Destroyer, and Chief Angel of the Sixth Heaven. Goodnight usually just called him Sam.

 

“Thank Satan you’re here,” Goodnight said with feeling, and they stepped forward into a warm embrace.

 

If the angels eyeing Goodnight had looked wary of the demon before, they looked positively stunned at seeing one of their own not only voluntarily but sincerely embracing him.

 

“Don’t thank him,” Sam said as he stepped back, eyes crinkling. “Heard he’s not even coming?”

 

“Course not,” Goodnight said. “Someone’s gotta man the fort. Is He coming?”

 

“Well He is everywhere, so yes,” Sam said, and then grinned. “And no.”

 

“Well that makes sense…and doesn’t” said Goodnight in imitation of Sam’s warm tenor. “By the way, wanna tell off your compadres over there?”

 

Sam glanced over Goodnight’s shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the two gaping angels who jumped and scurried away under the force of his glare.

 

“Don’t worry about them,” Sam said, face smoothing once more into amiability. “They’ll learn.”

 

“So how the heaven are you?” Goodnight asked him as they moved in tandem towards some vending machines. “How’re things On High anyways?”

 

He and Sam made an effort to catch up a couple times a century, but it had been a while. Sam had gotten busier and busier over the millennia, and had semi-recently been promoted to Chief of the Sixth Heaven. The only reason it hadn’t been the seventh was because that was where the actual Throne of Glory was.

 

“Oh you know. Paradise and all that.”

 

“Sounds boring,” Goodnight said, nudging Sam with a teasing elbow.

 

“Not lately, I can tell you that,” Sam snorted. “Everyone’s been losing their minds preparing for all this. The usual total investment. How about yours?”

 

“’Total investment’ are not the words I’d use,” Goodnight said wryly. “But demons love a good excuse to complain, and this definitely passes muster.”

 

“Yeah well they won’t be the only ones,” Sam said. “Heard about the rooms?”

 

“Yes,” Goodnight groaned. “Am I really with Jophiel? He was the biggest stick in the ether I’ve ever met.”

 

“Still is,” Sam said cheerfully. “But could have been worse. You could have been with Ramiel.”

 

“True.”

 

Ramiel was the Angel of Thunder and his snores matched the title.

  

Sam cast a glance at Goodnight as they reached the vending machines. “How’s Billy?”

 

Goodnight paused in his search for coins, not sure what had prompted the question.

 

“He’s Good. Why?”

 

Sam shrugged. “You see more of him than I do these days.”

 

Goodnight shrugged. “We are both the earthly ambassadors of our district. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

He tried to look casual although it did take him a few tries to get a coin in the slot of the vending machine.

 

“I didn’t say there was,” Sam said with an amused expression. “I was just wondering.”

 

Two cans thunked to the bottom of the machine and Goodnight handed one to Sam.

 

“Yeah well,” said Goodnight as he popped his open. “Not all of your kind have such an open mind about such matters. Or mine,” he added, to be fair.

 

He’d long since stopped worrying that the Powers That Be would take objection to his and Billy’s friendship. If Heavenly and Hellish fire hadn’t rained down on them both at this point, Goodnight doubted it would. But still, if your best friend was an angel, it didn’t pay to advertise it, mostly for the angel's sake.

 

“Hey, not me. I’m glad you two are friends,” Sam said taking a sip of his cola. “And I know Billy is too.”

 

It was either Sam’s words or the bubbles that fizzed through Goodnight in a giddy dance, but he just grinned at Sam. “Omniscient now, are we?”

 

“Not _om_ niscient,” Sam said thoughtfully. “But pretty niscient, yeah.”

 

Goodnight snorted. “Well, my mostly niscient friend, any idea what the cafeteria food is like here? And want to go check it out?”

 

“I would, but I think I can hear the rest of your compatriots arriving,” Sam said, tilting his head, and Goodnight could also make out the sounds of a muffled bassline approaching and a fleet of party busses glided past the windows of the lobby.

 

“I’ll let you all regroup, shall I?” Sam said. “But I owe you a drink. I won’t forget.”

 

He raised his can of Coke at Goodnight in salute, and turned away, heading off to get his own troops in line. Goodnight watched him go, feeling as lightened as he always did after an encounter with Sam, brief though it had been.

 

And he tried to hold onto that relaxed mood as he turned around just as the lobby doors burst open, and a horde of demons spilled eagerly into the conference centre making the angel manning the welcome booth jump, eyeing the raucously approaching demons with no small amount of trepidation. Goodnight sighed and wandered over to help. It was about to get loud.

 

*

 

It was another three hours before Goodnight made it to his floor of the dormitories. The demon who was supposed to help with the welcoming had never showed and was either late, or not coming at all. So Goodnight had taken his place in handing out nametags, directing demons around, and seeing that everyone had a copy of the itinerary, and chatting with the angel Afriel in the brief lulls between party busses. He was used to working with demons, but he had to admit that to the unpracticed, the constant questions, bickering, and threats of violence to each other’s corporal forms could be exhausting.

 

So when he reached his door marked 616 (666 reserved for Lucifer, whether he was coming or not), even he was feeling a little wiped out. He unlocked the door resolving to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow, already bracing himself for Jophiel’s irritatingly reedy voice, like an oboe that was set in the key of ‘I’m always right’, and plugged into an amp to boot.

 

However, when he opened the door, the only other person in the room was Billy.

 

“What are you doing in here?” Goodnight asked in surprise.

 

Billy was stretched out on one of the dorm room-style twin beds, propped up on some pillows, a quarter of the way through a giant bag of M&Ms, and halfway through a magazine he’d bought at the airport. He looked up at Goodnight over an article entitled ‘Turtlenecks: worth the risk?’ and smiled.

 

“Made Jophiel switch with me,” he said.

 

“You did?” Goodnight asked, warmth spreading through him at the thought that Billy, even though they already saw each other all the time on earth, would still want to spend a week in his company rather than mingle with some new blood.

 

“Think I was going to share with Belphegor?” Billy asked raising an eyebrow, referring to the demon of gluttony. “He’d eat all my M&Ms.”

 

Goodnight snorted and walked across the carpet, dropping his bag onto the other bed. “What makes you think I won’t?”

 

“Because I got you your own bag,” Billy said, holding one up and dangling it in front of him.

 

Goodnight walked over with a smile, and before he could think about it too much, plopped down on the bed next to Billy, and reached for the bag of M&Ms, pulling it open.

 

“So turtlenecks,” he asked, popping some M&Ms into his mouth and nodding towards the page Billy was on. “ _Are_ they worth the risk?”

 

“Well,” Billy said in a deeply serious voice as he shook out the magazine, preparing to read. “The turtleneck, when sized correctly, should fit exactly as it should: slim around the shoulders and forgiving around the middle. But beware these three common traps people fall into when buying a turtleneck for the holidays. Number one, length…”

 

Billy read aloud from the magazine and Goodnight listened, alternating between laughing at the grave voices Billy was injecting into the earnestly-written yet deeply inconsequential articles, and eating the rest of his M&Ms. And when he finished his he moved onto Billy’s, who didn’t tell him off, just nudged the bag closer and continued to read out loud. And Goodnight closed his eyes and enjoyed the brief pocket of calm before the oncoming celestial storm that would be this conference.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to include an /extremely/ important detail about Goody and Billy’s airplane flight in the previous chapter. It's crucial to note that while they were watching their in-flight movies, they would choose the same movie, and then any time one of them had to get up, they would both count to three and pause their movies at the same time, and then would count to three again when they restarted them, so that they could watch together. That is all.

 

 

 

 

 

**_Italy, 79 AD_ **

 

 

_Billy stretched and leaned back against the gnarled trunk of the olive tree. There was a twist in the wood perfect for his back, and the smooth oblong leaves were hanging still overhead in the heat, catching the evening sun in a silvery green basket._

 

_Goodnight returned, his lace-up sandals flattening the grass beneath, leaving the slightest imprints on the mountainside’s green grass._

 

_He no longer left scorched trails behind him when he walked, Billy had noticed. Not for a while now. Some demons left burning footprints behind them when they visited earth, sizzling, molten, impressions in the ground. Billy supposed the earth had simply gotten used to having Goodnight there. And after thousands of years, so, for that matter, had Billy._

 

_They were long since pretending to be immortal adversaries. Heaven and Hell had been getting less and less interested in earth over the years. There were bigger and more advanced planets to fry, and earth was mostly just regarded as His pet project these days, one he kept around purely for nostalgia’s sake. In fact, most humans would have been astounded and dismayed to learn just how very insignificant they really were in the grand scheme of things._

 

_I_ _t wasn’t so bad though, Billy thought as he gazed around the olive grove. Insignificance, that is. When he’d first been given his angelic ambassadorship he’d tried to exert divine influence in as bombastic, showy, and dazzling displays as possible. Saints and martyrs, burning visions and floods…spectacle. That was what the Powers That Be had told Billy would encourage divinity. Make the show, and they’ll buy the tickets._

 

_But over the years he’d come to realize that divinity didn’t have to be all righteous causes and holy crusades. He was starting to think sometimes divinity was found in the quieter moments. The in-betweens. And sometimes divinity was sitting in an olive grove on the slopes of a mountain, watching the evening sun and Goodnight walking towards him with a basket of olives and a flagon of wine._

 

_“Success?” Billy asked him lazily._

 

_“If you can call getting caught in a nest of nettles and stung by wasps a success,” Goodnight said, tucking the hem of his toga out of the way as he took a seat on the grass next to Billy._

 

_“I call it a necessary sacrifice,” Billy said, peering into the basket of olives._

 

_Goodnight snorted. “More like *my* necessary sacrifice.”_

 

_He took a wooden bowl from the basket and scooped out some olives. He produced a packet of spices from his robes and sprinkled them over top, along with a generous portion of salt. He then poured out enough water to cover the olives in the bowl. And Billy watched as Goodnight muttered something in an ancient tongue and then shook the bowl of what were now perfectly brined and marinated olives._

 

_“Voila,” Goodnight said, taking one out and popping it into his mouth before passing it to Billy._

 

_“Aging incantation?” Billy asked him._

 

_“It works on people, don’t see why it shouldn’t be the same for olives,” Goodnight said._

 

_Goodnight busied himself with the flagon of wine while Billy tried an olive. It was perfect: briny, garlicky, the tiniest bit spicy, and oily as he rolled it over his tongue before biting down and letting the juices explode in his mouth. It normally took half a year to cure olives properly, but such limitations didn’t apply to Billy or Goodnight._

 

_“Cheers,” Goodnight said, handing Billy a goblet of pale, fruity wine, a sweet and smooth contrast to the salty olives._

 

_Billy sighed in contentment as he leaned back further into the tree, turning his face to the slowly setting sun._

 

_“Not bad so far” he said, watching the palest gold start to bleed into pink, shadows of purple brushing at the edges of his view._

 

_“No need to exert yourself,” Goodnight said, mocking Billy’s subdued praise._

 

_“I like sunsets just fine,” Billy said. “But they’re still not as good as sunrises.”_

 

_“Well it was my turn to pick, so a sunset is what you’re getting,” Goodnight said, leaning back against the same tree as Billy, looking out at the sunset in satisfaction. They continued to drink the pale wine, and pluck oily olives from the bowl while they watched._

 

_“Why do all you people prefer sunrises anyway?” Goodnight finally asked after a while, eyes calm in relaxed golden pools, swirling his wine around in his goblet._

 

_“You people?”_

 

_“You know what I mean,” Goodnight said. He took in a breath and managed to get out: “Angels.” He grimaced immediately like he’d burned his tongue, but Billy was still impressed._

 

_“You can say it now?”_

 

_“Don’t remind me. And don’t distract me either. Why do you all prefer sunrises?”_

 

_Billy thought about it: the way the sky would gradually lighten early in the morning; the way the translucent gold deepened into a gilt horizon; the way a sunrise could ripple so slowly that you didn’t even know it was happening until it was upon you and you had to screw up your eyes against the blinding brilliance of it and it warmed you all over._

 

_“It’s like home, I guess,” Billy finally settled on. “That and the sense of productivity. Whole day ahead of you and all.”_

 

_He grinned at Goodnight who seemed torn between smiling at Billy and teasing him for his sense of industriousness._

 

_“How wholesome.”_

 

_“Thank you,” Billy said, still grinning. “What about you? Why do all demons prefer sunset?”_

 

_Goodnight cast a glance out to the sky which was beginning to be streaked with fiery orange and red, like the tongues of a flame._

 

_“Looks like home I guess,” he said with a laugh in his voice. “That and it means the workday is over.”_

 

_Billy huffed out a laugh and Goodnight poured more of the fruity wine into their goblets. It was sweet but it must have been potent: it was starting to go to Billy’s head a little. He felt mellow, heavy, like a drooping flower blossom, laden with nectar, waiting patiently for the next bee._

 

_“Do you miss it?”_

 

_Billy felt so languid he’d almost missed Goodnight’s words, spoken more softly than he usually did._

 

_“Living in heaven?”_

 

_Goodnight nodded and Billy thought about it._

 

_“No.”_

 

_“Are you lying?”_

 

_“Angels don’t lie,” Billy said. “We omit.”_

 

_“Are you omitting?”_

 

_That suddenly struck Billy as so funny he snorted into his goblet of wine, spraying himself with the liquid. He shook with silent laughter and Goodnight grinned, pleased with himself._

 

_Billy wiped off his mouth with the sleeve of his toga. Goodnight followed the motion and while his eyes were still laughing at Billy there was a flash of something else in them as they lingered on Billy’s lips. Probably just a reflection from the sunset._

 

_“I’m not,” Billy said honestly. Heaven might have been as beautiful as a sunrise, but unlike a sunrise, its virtues were dull, self-important, and increasingly over-zealous. Billy had already had that phase. Earth was more to his taste these days than heaven had ever been. Earth had mountains, trees with olives, skies that wrapped around any sun making themselves just as beautiful as the day before, and most importantly, Goody._

 

_He was as attached to the demon by now as anything else in his life, and had no shame admitting it. To himself, that was. He hadn’t said as much to Goodnight but he liked to think Goodnight felt the same kinship with him, even if it was much less likely for Goodnight to admit it._

 

_He gazed at Goodnight who placed another olive between his lips. He licked off the oil, forked tongue flitting against slick lips and Billy swallowed._

 

_“Do you miss it?” Billy asked._

 

_“Hell? Not likely. Has its charms, but it’s far more interesting up here.”_

 

_“I meant Heaven,” Billy said quietly. And then wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake bringing that up._

 

_Goodnight paused as he reached for another olive. His forehead creased as he gazed out at the sunset which painted his face in ruby hues that should have given him a devilish mask, but to Billy it just looked like he was glowing from within ._

 

_“No,” he said finally. “Maybe at first I…had some regrets about leaving. But it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”_

 

_“How did it?” Billy asked, not sure why his body’s heart had started thumping quite so insistently._

 

_Goodnight looked back at Billy, wreathed in the sunset’s fiery rays and even though Billy was sitting still, he felt like he was hurtling forward, a moth being sucked towards the flame._

 

_“Got to meet you, didn’t I?” he asked. “Seems worth it.” And he cracked a smile at Billy, eyes creasing at the corners and all of Billy’s breath left him at once in a dazed laugh._

 

_“What is it?” Goodnight looked taken aback, but his voice was still as low and soft as the leaves on the olive trees around them._

 

_“I was just thinking that’s not the kind of thing I expected you’d ever say,” Billy admitted._

 

_Goodnight hummed, a note that dropped through Billy like deep wine._

 

_“You know what I was thinking?”_

 

_Billy shook his head, still feeling as though he was being pulled forward, and it wasn’t until he felt Goodnight’s hair brush his own that he realized he actually was leaning forward this time._

 

_“What?” Billy murmured, suddenly fixated on Goodnight’s lips which were still dewy with wine._

 

_Goodnight smiled and Billy shivered, not sure if it was the sun leaving them, or the tantalizingly cool proximity of Goodnight’s skin._

 

_“I was thinking if we stay here long enough, we could watch your sunrise too,” Goodnight said, and then he reached out hesitantly to tuck a strand of hair behind Billy’s ear._

_Billy eyes snapped up to Goodnight’s which were locked on him, the gold in them burning extra bright as though making up for the sun which was sinking closer and closer towards the horizon._

 

_“You’re not even watching this one,” Billy managed to say, aware that Goodnight’s hand hadn’t moved, aware that their foreheads were practically touching at this point._

 

_“No,” Goodnight said, still gazing at Billy. And despite the intensity in his eyes he smiled. “I’m not.”_

 

_Billy couldn’t help smiling back, could never help smiling back, and was dimly aware of Goodnight’s thumb stroking his ear as the sun hung lower and heavy in the sky. Their noses brushed and Billy huffed out a laugh, and the burning embers of Goodnight’s eyes crinkled deeper, and Billy was as light as wine. He felt his own eyes begin to slip shut against Goody’s, moths to flames, and he leaned forward and felt Goodnight do the same, felt Goodnight’s cool, sweet breath over his lips, felt the earth shake as he tilted his chin the rest of the way, felt the earth shake again  –_

 

_The earth was shaking._

 

_Billy opened his eyes to Goody’s which looked as confused as he felt._

 

_“Do you feel…”_

 

_The ground was definitely rumbling and Billy and Goodnight moved slowly apart again, and Billy had just enough time to miss the cool proximity of Goodnight before the feeling was replaced by a deeper kind of chill._

 

_Both of them looked up the mountain, towards the summit, a wide crater with black smoke beginning to billow out the top, each puff thicker and blacker than the last._

 

_“Was this planned?” Goodnight asked him, eyes wide as he stared up at the swelling sulfury smoke._

 

_“No,” Billy said, not sure if the vibrations beneath his feet were getting stronger or if he was only noticing them now. “At least I haven’t heard anything about it.”_

 

_Goodnight gazed at the crater which was spitting sparks, and his mouth tightened like he knew what they felt like. “We should get out of here.”_

 

_Billy nodded and they got to their feet. Billy turned to look down the mountainside , the sun setting over the glittering Mediterranean. And then his heart stopped in his chest._

 

_The city. Smooth white columns, houses laid out in tidy grids, thousands maybe, all nestled in the valley below, lying in wait at the foot of the mountain. It would be swallowed whole._

 

_“Goody. The city.”_

 

_Goodnight turned away from the mountain’s summit to the town below. His eyes looked sad for one unvarnished moment._

 

_“Poor devils,” he said regretfully._

 

_“What do you mean?” Billy asked him frowning, and Goodnight glanced over, eyes flickering back to normal._

 

_“Well they’re right in the path.”_

 

_“Which is why we have to help them,” Billy said like he was explaining something very obvious. He chanced a look back up the mountain, feeling a tight coil in his stomach when he saw it was belching out black clouds faster and faster._

 

_“You know we won’t be able to save everyone down there,” Goodnight said resignedly but not unsympathetically._

 

_“We have to,” Billy protested._

 

_“If they saw the smoke they’ll already be leaving the town anyways. Out into the bay if they’re sensible,” Goodnight pointed out._

 

_“Not everyone will have a boat,” Billy said insistently. “And not everyone will leave either. We have to help ”_

 

_Goodnight looked back at Billy who was poised to fly down the mountainside but waiting, face pleading with Goodnight to come with him too._

 

_Goodnight’s face seemed to be pulled in all directions: to the mountain that was pouring acrid, coal-black smoke, the serene town below, then back to Billy._

 

_“Okay,” he said, and with a snap, black wings erupted from his toga. Billy flexed his shoulders and felt his own wings do the same, spreading wide, and they both took off into the sky, speeding towards the town._

 

_They were hurtling over the valley when there was an almighty crack behind them, the sound wave ripping through the valley and sending a vibration through Billy’s feathers._

 

_He craned his neck to look back and saw a huge cloud of dust and ash roiling towards them, fast approaching, swallowing up everything in its path, and gaining on them fast._

 

_“Goody!” Billy had enough time to yell out before the ash overtook them and everything went black._

 

_-_

 

_Dawn saw Billy on his knees in black, the once fertile fields now scorched, the town below buried under layers and layers of thick ash. Smoke was rising from the ground around him. The heat of the ground would have eaten through all the layers of his skin if Billy had been human. But he wasn’t, not that it had done any good for the humans around him._

 

_He heard footsteps behind him, from the only other person who could have possibly left footsteps on this scorched earth too._

 

_“Two-thousand,” Billy said in a hollow voice when Goodnight came up behind him._

_Goodnight didn’t say anything, just stood next to Billy, facing the mountain which still had bright, molten lava moving sluggishly_ _down the side of the mountain, mostly into the bay. The water steamed as hot orange tongues of magma curled into it._

 

_“Most made it out,” Goodnight said in a gentle voice. He paused, then added: “They’re resilient, humans are. Managed most of the evacuation themselves.”_

 

_That just made Billy feel worse, although some numb part of him recognized Goodnight was trying to be kind._

 

_“They’re still under us,” Billy said. The ash beneath him dug into his skin as hard and brittle as bone. “Suffocated.”_

 

_Goodnight knelt down next to him and shook his head. “The heat would have killed them instantly. Even the ones inside buildings. It would have been quick.”_

 

_Billy supposed Goodnight would know what he was talking about where fire was concerned, but that just gave him an awful thought, and before he could reconsider he whirled around to face Goodnight._

 

_“Was this your side?” Billy demanded and Goodnight recoiled, face shocked beneath the soot covering it._

 

_“No!” he said emphatically._

 

_Billy looked at the ground, ashamed of his outburst. “Sorry.”_

 

_Goodnight bit his lip and then reached out cautiously as thought to stroke Billy’s wings, and Billy’s head snapped up in surprise._

 

_“Sorry,” said Goodnight, drawing his hand back and looking sheepish. “It’s just your wings…they’re pretty black…”_

 

_Billy stretched his wings experimentally and indeed a small cloud of soot rustled off the feathers._

 

_“Leave it,” he said tiredly, and got to his feet, black wings rising with him. Strangely, their current colour almost made him feel better about his inability to help._

 

_Goodnight bit his lip and nodded. Billy gazed up the mountain which was smoking, having burnt everything in its path. Billy’s eyes found the spot where the olive grove had been. It was now a charred mark on the side of the mountain. The smooth twisted trunks and delicate leaves would have been ablaze in an instant, before being either ripped up by the roots by the explosion, or swallowed by ash. Either way it was gone._

 

_The horrible thought struck Billy that maybe it had been his own side’s doing. And if it was, the message was all too clear: get too close to a demon and this was what happened._

 

_He couldn’t bring himself to look at Goodnight. He just muttered ‘I’ll see you,’ and walked off leaving a wretched Goodnight and the smoking ruins of Pompeii behind him._

 

_It was sunrise but neither had noticed._

 

*

 

Billy’s eyes flew open and he sucked in a breath as though his lungs were full of ash. He was sweating and he lay there for a few minutes getting his heart back to normal before slowly sitting up, rubbing his head.

 

He looked out the window. The sun was only just creeping up over the desert, the sky painted the faintest pink. Across the dorm room Goody was still asleep in a shadowed corner, forehead creased in his sleep, and mouth turned down in a frown.

 

Billy felt a sharp spike of affection looking at him. After Pompeii he’d avoided Goodnight for almost a century, unable to think about anything to do with that day that had taken away so much of his faith in himself. The time he’d failed. For a long time he’d blamed both himself and Goody, thinking that if he’d been paying more attention to his surroundings and less attention to Goodnight’s tempting voice, then he could have saved more people.

 

But he recognized that was simplistic and not fair to either of them. Goodnight hadn’t been _trying_ to distract Billy from anything; temptation was just in his nature. And even if Billy had a steel will, he still couldn’t have saved that whole town all those centuries ago. He and Goodnight might have been full of divine power, but neither were omnipotent.

 

And so there’d been a good hundred years or so where Billy hadn’t even spoken to Goody from his many mixed emotions over what had almost passed between them, and his subsequent turmoil.

 

He couldn’t stay away long though, and when he’d sought Goodnight out again there’d been a palpable relief on both their parts. They’d resumed their friendship without a hitch, and had never discussed that fateful day again.

 

It snuck up on Billy sometimes though. His feelings for Goodnight had mostly sublimated themselves into a slow simmer, usually a mild burn that was set on a low heat, and was easy enough to ignore. But if he took his eyes off it for long enough it could bubble up and boil over, which was clearly what was happening now if those memories were starting to seep into his dreams out of nowhere.

 

Having had enough introspection in bed, Billy swung his feet onto the carpet and pulled off the T-shirt he’d worn to bed and swear right through. He walked to the centre of the room in his sweatpants and began to stretch his limbs out from their sleep. And then he began a rigorous series of calisthenics that he’d been doing for the past century or so. Exercise had become extremely orderly and assembly-line oriented in the past hundred years: scrupulously assigned sets and reps with very specific numbers for both weights and repetitions, as opposed to staying healthy by lifting bales of hay and farm chores and any number of natural, now-outdated lifestyles that kept you active by default.

 

But Billy liked the simple, soothing repetitiveness of a familiar workout. And besides, it wasn’t like he even _had_ to exercise. He could have just miracled abs onto himself if that was what he was after, but it was the ritual he enjoyed more than anything else.

 

He worked out quietly, careful not to make too much noise that would wake Goody. But after his final set of sit-ups he thumped back onto the carpet breathing heavily, and when he opened his eyes again it was to see Goodnight staring blearily at him through his rumpled sheets.

 

“Sorry…wake you up?” Billy asked, still rather breathless.

 

Goodnight yawned and shook his head.

 

“No. Just amazed you still go in for all that kind of…”

 

He gestured loosely, like he was searching for a word that would encompass the sheer frippery of this habit of Billy’s, but then gave up in favour of yawning again.

 

“It’s a good wake up,” Billy said, rolling to his feet. Goodnight had a faintly strangled look like he was suppressing a comment. But all Goodnight said was:

 

“I’ll say.”

 

Billy didn’t bother to puzzle out Goodnight’s morning statements. “Want the shower?” he asked him.

 

“No, you go first,” Goodnight said. “You’re all…sweaty.” And there was that strangled look again, but Goodnight had never been the best at early wakeups, so Billy pressed a button on the coffee maker so it could brew for both of them while he was in the shower.

 

An hour later, showered, coffeed, dressed, and alert, Billy and Goodnight made their way towards the elevators, heading to the lobby.

 

“Which group do you have first?” Billy asked Goodnight who had his sunglasses perched on top of his head.

 

“Umm, Principalities,” Goodnight said, checking his schedule for the day. “Then Angels and Archangels. We’re working our way up the ranks throughout the day.”

 

Billy nodded, cracking a smile. “Guess I’ll see you at the end of the day, then.”

 

“Yeah yeah, bigshot.”

 

Both Billy and Goodnight actually occupied an unusual place in the angel-demon hierarchy. Being Chief Earthly Ambassadors gave them each a fairly high-ranking status on their respective sides, but they didn’t hold much sway in any official Heavenly or Hellish issues. That suited Billy fine. It was like getting the benefits of a high salary and tenure, but also getting to be left out of the constant ping of office-wide emails. Not that anyone on his side would understand the email metaphor. But that was partly why they were here: to be trained in handling computers and the internet, so the demons couldn’t run amok completely unsupervised in that particular arena.

 

“Yeah well until then I’m stuck doing the teambuilding activities for our sides, and I’m not sure who’s going to hate it more: them or me.”

 

Goodnight glanced over at him the beginnings of a smile on his face. “What do you have planned?”

 

Billy shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“I was thinking make a human knot first. Then blind drawing. And if we have time, maybe build fortresses out of office furniture.”

 

Goodnight burst out laughing. “Oh you are _evil_.”

 

“Not too loud, or someone might believe you,” Billy said jokingly, but he felt a smug glow at Goodnight’s approval.

 

It was customary during these conferences to attend a wide variety of bonding activities when you weren’t in any official lectures. There was always a traditional round robin of inter-celestial teamwork games every day. The angels organized some, the demons organized others, and yes, everyone hated all of them.

 

Billy was actually kind of looking forward to it. The angels’ centennial bonding activities had good intentions at their core: but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun watching the demons squirm. It may have a tentative Cold War at this point between sides, but not without the occasional potshot that fell under the guise of ‘friendly fire’.

 

“At least yours will be funny. Zuriel’s probably going to try to save our souls or something.”

 

“Of course he won’t. He doesn’t think you have any in the first place,” Billy joked.

 

He’d been expecting Goodnight to laugh again but Goodnight just smiled tightly and shuffled the papers with his schedules again, eyes fixed on their contents.

 

Billy immediately felt like a prize idiot. Ashamed of himself he reached out and pressed the elevator’s emergency stop button and Goodnight looked over in surprise.

 

“Just ignore them,” Billy said intently.

 

“I don’t –”

 

“Yes they can be pricks sometimes, but don’t let them get to you,” Billy said. “I know they try to act all superior around people who Fall –” here Goodnight flinched “– but they’re not. You’re worth twelve of them and don’t forget it.”

 

Goodnight blinked in surprise, yellow eyes wide. “Why thank you, Billy.”

 

“And anyway, they don’t resent you because you Fell,” Billy said. “They resent you because they know you were right.”

 

“About what?”

 

“You know. The whole Apple thing.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“They’ll never admit it but they know you were right about the Knowledge issue. And they’re jealous that they didn’t realize it first.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really. So that’s why they resent you. And apples,” added Billy thoughtfully.

 

“Hmm,” was all Goodnight said. But he looked somewhat cheered. Better to be resented for successful demoning than pitied for failed angeling, Billy supposed.

 

Billy reached back out and started the elevator again and Goodnight flicked his sunglasses down to his eyes. There were no humans around to be put off by their unearthly glow, but style is a hard habit to break, and Billy felt pleased to see Goodnight owning his.

 

The elevator dinged and Billy held out his arm.

 

“After you,” he said, and the two walked out into the sea of bodies, ready to start.

 

*

 

By the end of the day Billy’s head wasn’t actively trying to kill him, but a good lawyer could have a made a decent case for manslaughter. The nonstop ‘fort building with office furniture’ teambuilding exercises had taken it out on him, however amusing it had been to watch the demons’ reluctance. He’d stopped smiling the sixth time he’d gotten hit with a stray sofa cushion projectile though, and was ready for this day to be over.

 

He was faring better than his other celestial counterparts at least. Most angels and demons didn’t spend much time in their corporeal forms, and as such were unused to the hunger, headaches, fatigue, and other quirks that came with occupying a human body. Billy was accustomed to it though, so at least he was still upright, unlike many of the angels and demons he passed who were passed out on various chairs in the hallways, drooling into the plastic.

 

They were given a fifteen minute break between each session and Billy took the opportunity to get a coke from one of vending machines set up in the wide, white hallways. When he got there, however, he was met with a crowd of angels all clustered around the machine, poking confusedly at the glass windows; some of the braver ones pushing the buttons but failing to realize you had to put coins in first. Billy sighed and walked to the head of the line.

 

“Okay, what do you have,” he asked the first angel in line, and she showed him her change and he put in the coin slot, punching in the numbers of the drink she wanted. Her eyes widened as the can thunked to the bottom of the machine, and widened even more when she took her first sip.

 

“Ambrosia!” she exclaimed rapturously over her mountain dew.

 

“Next,” said Billy wearily.

 

By the end of the break Billy had spent the entire time on unofficial vending machine duty, helping the angels who’d never seen one before, and ignoring some demons sniggering at them from a corner, vending machines of course being a demon invention. One of Goody’s actually, Billy was pretty sure.

 

He was about to walk away with his much-deserved can of Pepsi when a voice asked:

 

“Mind hitting A4 for me?”

 

Billy’s lips quirked. “I know you know how these work,” he said, but he hit the buttons for Sam nonetheless.

 

“Much obliged,” Sam said, smile in his voice as he grabbed his own soft drink.

 

“You going to Goody’s thing now?” Billy asked him as they both walked off in the same direction.

 

“Mm hmm. Should be entertaining,” Sam said. “I’ve been stopping in on the others to see how it’s going.”

 

“And?”

 

“Not bad. The trust falls were something else.”

 

“Anyone actually do it?”

 

“No. But it’s only Day One.”

 

“It’s not over yet,” Billy said as they reached the door of one of the bigger conference rooms, and Sam laughed as they stepped inside.

 

They were met with a wide table already full of some of heaven’s highest-ranking angels. Billy and Sam took the last two seats, and Billy noted with curiosity the royal blue cases set before each seat.

 

Billy looked around for Goodnight and spotted him in the corner, making some last minute tweaks to his presentation. Goodnight glanced up and smiled at Billy, and Billy was relieved to note that Goodnight didn’t seem at all cowed by his heavenly company, despite his brief nerves in the elevator.

 

Everyone had just settled in when a deafening blast of music broke through the conference room. Most of the angels clutched their ears and looked wildly around as though it was the real apocalypse. However it was just Goodnight grinning and holding a powerpoint clicker. He pressed a button and the music faded out but Goodnight’s smile stayed.

 

“Angels,” he said dramatically. “If you’re sitting here, it means you’ve almost made it through your first day of our conference: Navigating the World-Wide-Web as Cosmological-Wide beings. Congratulations.”

 

He spread his arms wide and some of the angels started clapping on reflex, and then looked around as though confused about why they’d started. Billy knew why, though, and suppressed a grin. Goodnight was in ‘presentation mode’, and Goodnight in presentation mode was hard to resist, even for a group of stuffy angels.

 

“You’ve been asking for the past decade to be let in on the internet,” Goodnight said. “But some of you may still be wondering: what _is_ the internet? How does it work? Why is it a web? And why does the address go to a bar?”

 

Some of the angels nodded seriously, a murmur breaking out, and Goodnight nodded gravely with them. He held up his hands up for silence again.

 

“You’ve been very patient thus far and I commend you for it. But I’m going to ask you to be patient for one more day. You see, before we can learn about the internet, first we have to learn about… _computers._ ”

 

There was an ‘oooh’ as Goodnight held up a pristine, silver laptop. Billy and Sam exchanged glances and tried not to laugh. Angels might have been ahead of the curve in some areas of modern development but technology was not one of those areas.

 

“That’s right, my friends,” Goodnight said, stroking the laptop almost indecently and while some of the angels flinched, none of them looked away. “Within these few inches of titanium and plastic lies all the knowledge of this world.”

 

“ _TypicaI,”_ came a cough from across the conference table. Billy looked over with narrowed eyes at the sneering face of an angel named Zuriel. Goodnight just looked curious.

 

“May I ask you to repeat that…Zadrool?” he asked squinting politely at the angel’s nametag.

 

“It’s _Zuriel_ ,” said the angel with a scowl. “Which you very well know. And I said _typical_.”

 

“I see. And why is that, Zuriel?” asked Goodnight with what seemed like genuine interest.

 

“It all comes down to the same thing with you people,” said Zuriel. “ _Knowledge._ That’s all you guys care about spreading, and you don’t care at what cost. It’s the blessed Apple all over again.”

 

“How right you are!” Goodnight said beaming. “And if you all open the blue cases in front of you, you’ll see why.”

 

Zuriel opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, eyes narrowed. He and all the other angels unzipped their cases and pulled out shining laptops of their very own, each with the imprint of an apple on the cover.

 

“Angels, I’d like you to meet your very own apples,” Goodnight said with a sharp grin. “Open the covers and let’s get started.”

 

*

 

The hour passed by smoothly enough, and by the end of it, most of the angels were able to turn their computers on and off, use the trackpads to open different applications, and even type a few questions into Google. Billy was pretty adept at computers at this point, so he took the opportunity to watch Goodnight work. He cut an authoritative figure as he moved around the conference room, helping each angel individually with their new devices. His outfit didn’t hurt either. Many of the conference attendees hadn’t been on earth in centuries and seemed a little confused about current trends, and the resulting fashion had been…interesting to say the least. There were Victorian bustles mixed with bomber jackets mixed with gladiator sandals mixed with eighteenth century bouffant updos. Billy had been impressed when he saw one demon wearing jeans, but was less impressed when he saw she’d paired it with a hoopskirt. Just the hoops.

 

Goodnight looked as sharp as ever though, in a lightweight linen suit, sunglasses, and some snakeskin cowboy boots Billy hadn’t seen before. Part of him thought the snakeskin was a bit macabre given some of Goodnight’s earlier forms, but it also made him think of Goodnight’s own natural skin, and he didn’t mind that at all.

 

He fought his blush down. It was one thing to entertain such sinuous thoughts about Goody in the privacy of his own mind. It was another thing to think them while sitting smack in the middle of Heaven’s most influential angels.

 

Just then Goodnight came by with two Styrofoam cups of coffee which he place in front of Billy and Sam.

 

“I’m contractually obligated to serve lukewarm coffee to the angels in retaliation for the trust falls,” he muttered apologetically to Billy. “But I made yours and Sam’s hot, don’t worry.”

 

“How?” Billy asked, taking a scalding sip of strong coffee. “They’ve turned off everyone’s powers for this conference.”

 

“Yeah but they didn’t turn off the microwave,” Goodnight said, jerking his thumb over to one in the corner. Billy laughed. He was still smiling even while he watched Goodnight walk away to help another angel locate ‘the mice’ he’d heard so much about with computers.

 

Billy turned away, tuning out the angel’s question of ‘won’t this hidden mouse chew through the cords?’ and was startled to see Sam staring at him, with that irritatingly knowing expression Sam always wore. Billy had long learned not to take it personally, but it was hard not to, especially when Sam looked like he was holding a laugh in his cheek.

 

“What are you doing after dinner?” was all Sam asked.

 

“Taking aspirin and sleeping,” Billy said.

 

Sam laughed. “Let’s meet up. There are some things I want to go over for tomorrow’s conferences.”

 

“Sure,” Billy said, wondering if Sam had heard about the cushions that had been thrown during Billy’s activities. So long as he hadn’t heard about Billy throwing them _back_ , Billy wasn’t too worried.

 

The seminar drew to a close, and Billy smiled over at Goodnight who – now that it was over – looked relieved he hadn’t been too badly heckled by the angelic crowd.

 

“Nice job,” Billy said on their way out, meaning it.

 

“That was just round one. I’m expecting more grief when I get to the difference between upload and download,” Goodnight said with a laugh.

 

Billy clapped him on the shoulder. “See you.”

 

The evening and dinner went by in the blink of an eye. Billy was starving and had finished his chickpea salad in seconds, eyeing the steaks on the demons’ plates hungrily. He wasn’t actually a vegetarian, unlike most angels, but it wouldn’t do to push the envelope too much. He was already ‘the weird one’ where most angels were concerned, although he thought that was pretty unfair given how weird the crowded cafeteria was already.

 

He took the opportunity to gaze around, seeing some familiar faces. Vasquez and Faraday gave him eager waves from a table of demons. Billy waved back weakly and they both beamed. They both once happened to see him vaporize an entire cartel of drug smugglers and had been tagging along at his heels ever since, begging for tips. It was slightly annoying but Billy didn’t mind, especially since they’d given Billy a fearsome reputation back down below, which came in handy sometimes.

 

Over in another corner was a table of angels and Billy recognized Red and Emma among them. They seemed deep in discussion, probably reflection on the events of the day and brainstorming how to improve them. They were both young and still taking this whole thing seriously. Whereas most of the other attendees tended to act like they were at their last summer of sleepaway camp.

 

Wandering between the tables was Horne, white beard visible from across the room, and he…well to be honest Billy had never been sure what side Horne was on. He would have sworn Horne was a demon, but when he’d mentioned it to Goodnight, Goodnight had been positive Horne was one of the angels. No one seemed to have figured it out yet, but either way, Horne was a signature sight at these events, and could always been seen floating between both groups.

 

He was the only one so far though, Billy noted. Not unusual for the first day of these conferences. By the end of the week most everyone would be relaxed enough to share tables and mingle and actually achieve one tiny grain of the intended collaboration, but for now, everyone stuck tightly to their tables, cliquey as a teen rom com.

 

Goodnight was probably the only other person who would get that reference, Billy thought glumly, poking at a leaf of spinach, but Goodnight was on the other side of the room, engaged in some official demonic micro-meeting. Billy didn’t know the angels at his table very well, and therefore didn’t really know what to say. He was relieved when Sam walked by.

 

“Billy? Got a minute?”

 

Billy nodded and stood up, clearing his tray, and he followed Sam out the side doors, surprised when Sam led them outside, to an assortment of empty picnic tables underneath some scraggly desert trees.

 

“Needed some fresh air,” Sam said. “And I thought you might have needed this.”

 

He handed Billy a paper plate of barbecued chicken saying “I know you’ve gone native.” Billy reached for the plate with a hungry moan.

 

“You have no idea how much I hate chickpeas,” Billy said with feeling as he tore into a drumstick.

 

“I had some idea,” Sam said watching as Billy dug in. He waited until Billy was mid-swallow before asking:

 

“So what’s going on with you and Goody?”

 

Billy choked on his chicken wing and Sam slapped him calmly on the back.

 

“Excuse me?” Billy asked eyes streaming, and then started coughing again. Sam waited patiently.

 

“What do you mean?” Billy asked once he’d finally cleared his airway.

 

“Just wondering what’s going on with you two.”

 

“Yeah I heard you,” Billy said crossly, in order to cover up the way his heart was pounding. He eyed the plate of defences-lowering-chicken and pushed it away resentfully. Cheap shot.

 

“Well?” Sam asked as he waited.

 

“Sam,” Billy said tiredly as he leaned forward rubbing his temples. It was evening and the crickets that began to sing were very timely in their calls while Billy tried to collect his thoughts. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew one thing for sure, and it was that Sam on a bloodtrail was impossible to shake. But maybe if he stalled enough, he could at least avoid having this conversation tonight.

 

“You know, everyone thinks I’m omniscient,” Sam said thoughtfully. “But I don’t actually know _everything_. I mean, I know you’re in love with Goody because that’s obvious, and I know he’s in love with you too, even though that’s less obvious.” And here Billy’s heart picked up even more.

 

“But what I don’t know,” Sam continued, “is why neither of you have done anything about it yet.”

 

“Maybe because it’s none of your business?” Billy mumbled, for the moment not caring that Sam outranked him by at least forty-seven rungs. But Sam just smiled, albeit a little sadly.

 

“I’m just trying to help,” he said gently. “You’re one of mine, and Goody, well...he’s not, but even so, I don’t want to see either of you miserable.”

 

Billy looked over at Sam, and saw in his eyes that he really did mean it. And because he was feeling underslept, a little lonely with Goody off being busy, and honestly still pretty hungry, it all came out before he knew what he was doing: how he felt about Goody; how long he’d felt that way about Goody; how crazy it drove him sometimes, and especially how -

 

“- even if he does feel that way -”

 

“He does.”

 

“Yeah well...even if he does, it’s not like we could ever be together.”

 

“Why not?” Sam asked.

 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because the one time it almost happened, somebody up there triggered an actual Satan-blessed volcano eruption?” Billy exploded, and then glanced around the picnic area furtively, even though they were still alone.

 

“Pompeii?” Sam asked, forehead creasing. “That wasn’t us.”

 

“Well it wasn’t Them,” Billy said scowling. “Have you seen that new fresco of the woman and the swan together? No way They didn’t approve of that.”

 

“Well who said it has to be anyone?” Sam asked.

 

Billy scoffed. “Oh come on. You’re not telling me that you of all people believe in coincidences like that?”

 

To his surprise Sam just laughed.

 

“I always thought Goodnight was overly-dramatic but I’m pretty sure you’re worse.”

 

Billy frowned, not understanding.

 

“Billy,” Sam said patiently. “Sometimes a volcano is just a volcano.”

 

“You weren’t there, you don’t know how _instant_ it was -”

 

“I do, actually,” Sam said. And right. Omniscient.

 

“Whatever. But still, let’s just say it _was_ a coincidence, do you really think the Powers That Be would actually approve of an angel and a demon…”

 

Billy trailed off, uncertain of what language to use in front of Sam.

 

“...doing what the swan and the woman were doing in the fresco?” Sam supplied drily.

 

Now Billy had really lost his appetite, and picked moodily at one of the splinters in the picnic table.

 

“I don’t think they’d do anything about it,” Sam said with conviction.

 

“Really?” Billy asked sceptically.

 

“Well they might have some ‘opinions’. But it’s not really polite to actually voice them these days, is it? Not without being a hypocrite.”

 

Billy wished he could share Sam’s optimism. He continued scratching at the splinters in the picnic table but slowly glanced back up, aware of Sam’s piercing gaze on him.

 

“I didn’t think you were the kind of angel who really cared about rules anyways,” Sam said curiously.

 

“I don’t,” Billy said emphatically. “ButIdon’twantanythingto -”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“ _I don’t want anything happen to Goody,_ ” Billy burst out. And then looked back down, mumbling: “I care about him.”

 

It was true that Billy wouldn’t have needed anyone’s permission. He didn’t give a shit about Heaven’s approval, and in fact was perfectly willing to fight off the entire Heavenly Host if it came down to them or Goody. But it was putting Goody in the crossfires that he couldn’t justify, however much he wanted to. Not for his own selfish desires.

 

“Then just tell him that,” Sam said gently.

 

Billy looked up incredulously. “Didn’t you hear me? If anything happened between us, Heaven would -”

 

“You leave Heaven to me,” Sam said firmly. And it was hard not to believe Sam, not with that ripple of flame that was lit under his words, like all it would take was a match and the right breeze for his voice to become a holy bonfire.

 

Billy’s thoughts were swirling. He’d spent so long believing nothing could ever come of him and Goody, and he’d made his peace with that, as long as he could still have him as a friend. But for the first time since those brief, sunset-drenched minutes on Mount Vesuvius, he was starting to think it could actually be a possibility…

 

...which would mean actually bringing it up with Goody, Billy realized in alarm. Something he’d avoided doing with every fibre of his being for millennia.

 

“You know why it has to come from you, don’t you?” Sam asked Billy, as though reading his thoughts, which he probably was. “Goody would never bring it up.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“That,” Sam said, “is between you and him.”

 

“Oh is it?” Billy asked, too discombobulated to inject the right sarcasm into his voice.

 

“Believe it or not, I do think some things deserve privacy,” Sam said smiling.

 

Finally having dislodged the splinter he was working on, Billy looked up. “Why are you even getting involved anyways?”

 

“Because of what a romantic I am,” Sam said deadpan.

 

“The word you want is ‘busybody’,” Billy said, but with no real heat. He even managed a tight smile.

 

“Just think about it,” Sam said, getting to his feet. “If for no other reason than that you’re both driving me crazy.”

 

“Well we can’t have _that_."

 

Sam’s lips twitched. “You know why Heaven thought you’d be a good candidate for the Earthly position?”

 

“Why?”

 

“‘Cause you’re a smartass,” Sam said immediately, and Billy smiled more genuinely than he had before.

 

Sam smiled too and clapped Billy on the shoulder.

 

“Have a little faith, Angel,” he said. And then he walked off and disappeared into the night.

 

Billy stayed at the picnic table until the sun went down, mind racing, full of possibilities. Some good, some bad, but mostly that he was too worked up to think properly about Goody. And the kicker was, the only thing that calmed him down _was_ Goody.

 

“ _Why_ ,” Billy mumbled to no one in particular as he stood up, shoving his abandoned plate of now-cold chicken into a nearby garbage, feeling slightly guilty about the waste.

 

He made his way back into the conference centre which was now pretty much empty, save for a few demons and angels still milling around. Billy went into an elevator and pressed the ‘close doors’ button without turning around to see if anyone was hurrying over. As long as he couldn’t see them, it wouldn’t be ignoring them.

 

Billy walked through the dorms and came to his and Goody’s room, swiping his keycard and walking inside.

 

Goodnight was already in the room, leaning against the desk on his side, looking at some papers in his hands.

 

“Do you really think they meant ‘You will eat the good things of the _lard_ ?’” Goodnight asked him without looking up, reading from the cafeteria’s weekly menu plan. “Surely the quote is ‘good things from the _land_ ’?”

 

Billy felt his face spasm. And before he knew what he was doing, Billy was cutting across the room in two steps, and giving Goodnight a bone-crushing hug.

 

“Mmmph!” Goodnight said in surprise. “Billy…?”

 

“One second,” Billy mumbled into his shoulder, squeezing Goodnight harder.

 

“Okay,” Goodnight said, still bemused. But he patted Billy on the shoulder and allowed Billy to keep holding onto him until he got the warring feelings of confusion, trepidation, and affection out of his system.

 

Billy pulled back, already missing the security of literally and figuratively hanging onto Goody for dear life. “Can we watch a movie?”

 

Goodnight raised his eyebrows. “Sure. Which one?”

 

“I don’t care,” Billy said, and he didn’t. He just wanted some semblance of normalcy before he thought anymore about changing everything between them for better or worse. “You choose.”

 

“Hmm,” Goodnight said, going to rifle through his duffel bag. “I have The Big Lebowski! Reviews have called it one of the most nihilistic movies ever made.”

 

“Sounds perfect,” Billy said, lips tugging up. He strayed over to Goodnight’s side of the room, collapsing on his bed and getting comfortable while he watched Goodnight set it up.

 

Goodnight propped up the laptop on some pillows and settled in next to Billy, placing the DVD into the laptop’s CD drive.

 

“You brought DVDs?” Billy asked curiously. “Why not just stream it?”

 

“I’ll tell you why,” Goodnight said. “And it is because this building that they’ve set up for the sake of having a conference about embracing the internet…

 

Billy looked up at him.

 

“...doesn’t have any internet signal.”

 

Billy stared at him and Goodnight stared back. Billy felt his lips begin to twitch, and Goodnight’s began to mirror his own, and then Billy was dissolving into tired laughter onto the cushions, hearing Goodnight laughing somewhere above him.

 

“Of course it doesn’t,” Billy finally said, sitting up and arranging himself again.

 

“Without struggle there is no progress,” Goodnight agreed gravely. He then laughed and started the movie leaning back against the dorm room wall next to Billy.

 

And he’d just been kidding, but his words rang in Billy’s ears. And as the opening credits began to roll, Billy thought about his own struggles that his conversation with Sam had revealed. They’d seemed insurmountable, an actual moving of heaven and earth but...with the weight of Goodnight against him, maybe progress wasn’t as far off as Billy thought.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! This fic was supposed to be short, weird, and silly. And instead it became long, weird and still silly although I ended up getting overly invested in it anyways. Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year!

 

 

 

 

 

It was the last day of the symposium, and all the angels and demons were gathered around playing landmine. Goodnight was sitting on a table while he watched their efforts, eating Pringles, and contemplating the soul.

 

Humans had souls; it was a fundamental aspect of their packaging (none of the parts stuck together otherwise). Without souls, beings like Goodnight and Billy would be out of a job. Human souls were their entire profession.

 

Sometimes Goodnight couldn’t help but wonder about their own souls though. Technically speaking, angels and demons _were_ souls. So did that mean they could still _have_ one? Even if it wasn’t called a ‘soul’ necessarily, did they still have some innate essence deep within them that made them all who they were? Or were they just an exoskeleton of celestial intentions with nothing inside?

 

Watching the angels and demons, Goodnight couldn’t believe that was the case. If they didn’t have souls, then how was it that they were all so different, not just from the opposite side, but even within their own factions?

 

Take Vasquez and Faraday for example: both demons, but as unlike as cinnamon and cayenne respectively. They looked alike, and both spiced up your food, but you’d only put one on your oatmeal. Right now it was Vasquez’s turn to wear a blindfold and Faraday’s job to give directions like ‘right’ ‘left’ ‘stop’ and ‘go’ through the obstacle course of office furniture. Faraday was gleefully calling out the wrong directions to watch Vasquez bump into filing cabinets because that was in his nature. And Vasquez would peel off his blindfold to glare daggers at Faraday but not actually get bothered about it because that was in _his_ nature.

 

And there were many such differences among the angels too. There was Sam, as noble and stalwart as any angel should be, but with a mischievous streak that rivalled any imp’s. And then there were angels like Zuriel, so sneering and superior that they reminded Goodnight of why he’d left in the first place.

 

But then there were the Billys of the universe. Billy who was so fundamentally _good_ he could never have been anything but an angel. Sure he could be dry as the desert they were in, could ignore Goodnight’s whining with a face as unmoving (and as old) as Stonehenge, and could burn with a righteous fury that was so cold that Goodnight wondered how the ground didn’t frost over beneath his feet.

 

But he would also stop to put baby birds back in their nests on their walks together, something Goodnight was sure only happened in children’s fairy stories; he’d help anyone who looked even the slightest bit lost; could tease almost anyone out of a bad mood with gentle chiding and a healthy dose of perspective, and once, when Goodnight cracked and confessed he didn’t know what all these sides were even _for_ , Billy had listened, patient and serious, pouring Goodnight drinks while Goodnight poured himself out in a way he couldn’t with anyone else.

 

And he still kept giving up his breaks in this conference to show angels how the vending machines work.

 

No, there was no question that Billy had a core, and that core was good, through and through. He was vibrant, vivid, and the main reason Goodnight believed in souls at all.

 

And if Goodnight had been in love with that blazing soul for as long as he could remember having conscious thoughts, well that was nobody’s business but his.

 

Billy was currently circulating and making sure everyone was engaged in the teambuilding exercises, calmly diffusing any arguments although they were few. And although he looked somewhat tired and harried, he immediately helped a demon open her can of pop, patiently showing her how the pull-tab worked and letting her try it for herself, smiling a little at her look of delight when she managed it.

 

Goodnight sighed.

 

“Long day at the office?” Sam asked, taking a seat on the table next to him. “You weren’t even planning this one.”

 

“There’s a reason they call it spectator sports,” Goodnight pointed out, shuffling over to make room for him. “Not easy watching this much high-stakes competition.”

 

Sam snorted. “I don't know, do you really think they’re being competitive anymore? Seems smoother today.”

 

“It does,” Goodnight had to agree. While all the bipartisan activities and friendly competitions had had a vaguely manic and aggressive edge to them at the beginning of the week, by now things had more or less smoothed out into the intended spirit of collaboration. Everyone was getting along, on the outside at least, and the mood was relaxed enough that the different sides seemed to actually be enjoying each other’s company, treating the final days of the conference almost as a kind of class reunion.

 

These events had not always been so easy. Goodnight vividly recalled the first few where all the attendants were so highly strung at being thrust together that the automatic response to any ‘hello’ was to smite on site. That was why the strict ‘no powers’ rule had been imposed for the last few centuries. As long as the angels and demons were thrust together like this, they were under a truce.

 

But after a while you could get used to anything, and both sides had done just that: gotten used to each other. You could only go through so many falsealarmageddons together without feeling a certain camaraderie and a degree of ‘live and let live’.

 

In the landmine game an angel bumped their knee against a chair and swore violently, instantly looking around in horror to see who had heard, but their demon partner just laughed and gave them a fist bump, which the angel just looked confused but also pleased by.

 

“See?” Sam said, nudging Goodnight. “Collaboration.”

 

“Alright, calm down,” Goodnight said. “It’s a fist bump, not reunification.”

 

Once upon a millennia Goodnight might have been tempted by the idea of reunification. Certainly the angels and demons had far more in common than they liked to pretend, and Goodnight truly believed they were coming to realize that as a whole. The universe wasn’t as black and white these days as it once had been, and Goodnight felt that their edges were becoming a comfortably blurred sort of grey.

 

But ultimately he thought having the two sides was…a good thing. The idea of a world influenced entirely by Hell made Goodnight wince. And an exclusively Heaven-run world didn’t sound much better to him. The world couldn’t run on one viewpoint alone. Having two sides was healthy. It helped keep them in check and prevented them from naval-gazing too deeply.

 

“Well they can’t all be you and Billy,” Sam said mildly.

 

“Their loss,” Goodnight said automatically. As though hearing his name, Billy turned over to look at him, still mid-laugh from one of the landmine team’s hijinks, and Goodnight felt his heart clench. Billy. Beautiful, brilliant, Billy, his best friend and object of his most pathetic and all-consuming love, and completely, totally off-limits. And Goodnight couldn’t even complain about his constant proximity being torture, because he was a _demon_. He’d practically invented torture, for Satan’s sake. He might have lived on earth and not in Hell, but it was only appropriate that he should also be in his own personal hell to have Billy constantly tempting him like forbidden fruit. And Goodnight _had_ invented forbidden fruit.

 

Billy: love of his life and tempter of his temperance, and _hellfire_ why did he have to look so handsome when he laughed?

 

Billy turned back to the group and Goodnight sighed again.

 

Sam was looking at him again and Goodnight prickled.

 

“ _What._ ”

 

“You’re a good guy, Goody.”

 

“Not so _loud_ ,” Goodnight hissed, fixing Sam with a glare from behind his mirrored shades. There were _beings_ around, for Satan’s sake. Why were all the angels in his life so set on embarrassing him with their faith in him? Sam just chuckled and they continued to watch the proceedings.

 

Eventually Goodnight got up and stretched. He had one final presentation to prep for and he’d better get a move on. It was serious stuff and the final challenge for the various beings learning how to use the internet: they’d be given a trivia question, then they had to look up the answer online, type that answer in a separate word document…and then _print_ it. Goodnight had stickers and certificates prepared for anyone who managed it, and he was unreasonably pleased with them.

 

“You going to the bar tonight?” he asked Sam.

 

“I’ll stop by,” Sam said. “But won’t stay for the whole thing. Who wants to unwind when their boss is in the room?”

 

“You’re a good guy, Sam,” Goodnight told him with mock gravity, and blithely dodged the swipe Sam aimed his way. He walked away, graciously surrendering the rest of his Pringles to Sam.

 

Before leaving he caught Billy’s eye and waved at him. Billy mouthed ‘see you later’, and Goodnight nodded. He then jerked his head towards a landmine contestant that was about to collide with another blindfolded player due to the errant directions of their partners. Billy rolled his eyes at their antics and grinned at Goodnight before heading over. Goodnight watched him seamlessly divert them away from disaster.

 

Goodnight sighed for the third time that hour and turned away. He wound up face to face with Sam again who was staring at him with a look of sympathy that Goodnight didn’t care for, and a trace of amused understanding which Goodnight cared for even less.

 

“It’ll be fine, Goodnight,” Sam said.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Goodnight said with great dignity. He brushed past Sam without another word, paused and thought better of it, reached back to grab his Pringles, and marched stoically out.

 

 

*

 

 

The music was loud and the bar was hot. Rather than have the end-of-conference cocktail party in the dry, overused centre, the symposium had decided to go to a human bar. That meant taking the busses a few miles back across the desert to the little town of Driftwood.

 

When they’d all spilled into the bar the bartender had paused in his act of drying a glass with a rag of debatable cleanliness, the few patrons at the low wooden tables eyeing the crowd with some measure of wariness. While most of the conference attendees had gotten the hang of human dress, there were still a few who seemed sartorially stuck between centuries and cultures. And the meager members of Driftwood nightlife seemed to be under the impression that not only was the circus in town, but that they’d also brought along a burlesque troupe, a motorcycle club, and a historical reenactment society to boot.

 

Still, things had loosened up at a quick pace. Make that an _alarmingly_ quick pace. Many of the angels and demons were unused to drinking in their human forms and were getting drunk at quite a spectacular rate. It didn’t help that the angels – moved by the munificence of the concept – had taken to screaming ‘Another round for the bar!’ at spontaneous intervals, enjoying the swell of generosity.

 

So almost everyone was pretty well hammered, and even Billy was beginning to feel a loose tingling around his eyes, blinking slowly, comfortably mellow as he took another sip of whiskey. He reminded himself to take it easy: he didn’t have the benefit of powers this week to automatically dispense with a hangover. And he knew some of the demons had cleared out all the Gatorade from the vending machines in anticipating of getting drunk. He hoped Goodnight had managed to pilfer a few for their own benefit.

 

Billy eyed the room, getting a read on it. In one corner there were angels and demons spiritedly arguing over which song to play next on the jukebox. There were some demons teaching drinking games to the few humans still hanging around, and the humans then went and taught the same games to the angels. Beer pong needed no teaching, as the one drinking game that all beings, human or otherwise could understand on sight. There were angels and demons playing pool, the angels absolutely crushing the demons, what with their significant advantage in sacred geometry. But the demons were getting their own back over at the foosball table, twisting the rods impaled through the small plastic figures with gusto. When one angel asked how they were so good at this game, one demon gave the worrying explanation that they had ‘a similar sort of set up in Hell’.

 

But all in all it seemed to be going smoothly, and Billy could breathe a sigh of relief that the conference had finished without any significant confrontations, maimings, or threats of apocalypse.

 

Billy drained the remains of his mule-strong whiskey, setting the empty glass on a table with a wet thunk. He gazed around the crowded room until he spotted Goody in a corner, fumbling with a handful of darts. He took careful aim, lined up his shot, thrust his hand forward, and…

 

…winced as the shot went wide and someone yelped at the dart that popped suddenly into the leather of their handbag.

 

“Sorry,” Goodnight said sheepishly, going over to collect it. Billy smiled and walked over.

 

“Oh hi,” Goodnight said, coming back and seeing Billy. “Can you believe these newfangled darts?” he asked, hefting them. “Haven’t played this game in ages, but the quality of materials has _clearly_ gone down the drain.”

 

“Oh sure, it’s the darts that are the problem,” Billy said with a snort. “And not the glass in your other hand, right?”

 

“Billy, I am as sober as a soldier. I am as abstinent as an actuary. I am –”

 

“- spilling on the floor?”

 

“A technicality,” Goodnight said with a grin, setting the glass aside to better brandish the darts at Billy. “But really, look at these things I remember when they had actual feathers in them. These ones have all the flight power of an emu.”

 

“These are plastic,” Billy said with a laugh, pushing them away. “And absolutely more aerodynamic than those clunky wooden things you’re pretending you were better with.”

 

“Pretending?” Goodnight said in mock outrage. “Okay, you hit a bullseye with any one of these travesties and I’ll bow to your superior skillset.”

 

He lowered his sunglasses to wink at Billy, eyes a sparkling merry gold, and Billy smiled back, flushed and warm from the whiskey, the crowd, and the glow of rightness he always felt when bantering with Goodnight, his best friend, about anything at all.

 

“Give me those,” Billy said, uncurling them from Goodnight’s sweaty palm. And with barely a break to aim he whirled around and sent the darts whistling to the board one right after the other, where they landed dead-centre with a satisfying thwack, the last one bouncing anticlimactically off the too-crowded bullseyes, clattering to the floor.

 

Goodnight cleared his throat and lifted his chin.

 

“Well that proves absolutely nothing,” he said primly.

 

“You said something about bowing?” Billy asked as he went over to pick up the darts. When he returned, Goodnight sunk into a deep bow, arms dramatically sweeping the floor.

 

“My liege.”

 

“Get up,” Billy said rolling his eyes, tapping Goodnight’s lower back with the darts. “I’ll show you.”

 

Goodnight straightened up and Billy stepped behind him, passing him one of the darts. He kept his hand braced over Goodnight’s.

 

“Keep your weight on your forward foot,” he said, “But don’t lean in too much.”

 

Goodnight obediently leaned back, shoulders brushing Billy’s chest. Billy slid his hand down to Goodnight’s wrist.

 

“Relax,” he said. “And always keep the dart pointing up.”

 

He heard Goodnight clear his throat as he angled the dart and Billy placed his other hand over Goodnight’s hip.

 

“Turn a bit more, yeah like that.” The motion brought Goodnight’s back in flush with Billy’s chest. Billy spread his fingers over Goodnight’s hip. “And relax.”

 

Goodnight aimed with the dart, and as he lined up his shot the nape of his neck brushed Billy’s nose, and Billy was suddenly dizzied by the scent of his hair, sandalwood and smoke.

 

The sudden jolt through Goodnight told Billy he’d taken his shot and Billy snapped out of it to see the dart quivering where it was stuck nearer the centre of the board.

 

“See?” Billy said casually, still feeling dizzy from the impromptu intimacy. “Stop knocking the goods.”

 

“Well stick around, why don’t you, I’ve got four more of these,” Goodnight said, tilting his head back to look at Billy, mouth curving up. Billy smiled too. And there was no reason for them to still be standing so closely, but he didn’t want to move, and Goodnight wasn’t showing any inclination towards moving away either.

 

“Well if it isn’t _Goodnight_ ,” came a reedy voice as a figure stumbled into view. “What are you drinking? _Apple_ cider?”

 

Zuriel laughed, swaying slightly as he did, fingers clutched around some blue monstrosity of a drink with enough umbrellas in it to weatherproof Scotland.

 

“Not as much as you apparently,” was all Goodnight said as he and Billy reluctantly stepped away from each other.

 

“Now I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” Zuriel said, eyes narrowing as he jabbed towards Goodnight with his finger, taking a few tries to get it hovering in front of Goodnight’s face. He was clearly extremely drunk, even more so than all the other beings around them who had just as much practice (meaning none) at holding their liquor in their human forms.

 

“Not now, Zuriel,” Billy said giving the angel a warning glance, which would have worked when that angel was in more sober days. But Zuriel was still squinting in an unsteady approximation of menace as he leaned in towards Goodnight, the umbrellas in his drink rustling violently.

 

“Why is it,” the angel said, “That a _demon_ is somehow so buddy-buddy with all the angels, huh?”

 

“Well for starters, my drinks don’t look like they’re about to predict the weather,” Goodnight said, lifting an eyebrow over his sunglasses.

 

It wasn’t one of Goodnight’s best, but a few demons around them chuckled, even some angels joining in. Zuriel was not exactly popular.

 

“What was even the point of you Falling if you were just going to keep hanging around angels anyway?” Zuriel sneered. “Or do they not like you in Hell either?”

 

Goodnight’s jaw tightened, and Billy loomed in closer.

 

“Drop it,” he told Zuriel.

 

“This hardly seems in the spirit of things, does it?” one angel said with a nervous laugh, trying to steer Zuriel away, giving Goodnight and Billy an apologetic look.

 

But the angel wasn’t paying attention, eyes glazed, slurring in his ire.

 

“It takes me _decades_ to get a meeting with Samael, and yet you can just slither up to him whenever you want,” Zuriel hissed. But then he gave an unpleasant smile. “Guess there are some perks when everyone feel sorry for you.”

 

Goodnight just turned away, mouth in a thin line, but Billy’s temper from being interrupted had already been simmering and now Zuriel had just cranked it up to high heat.

 

“I said drop it,” he said in a low voice, taking a deliberate step between them, focusing Zuriel’s attention on him. Zuriel grinned as though noticing him for the first time.

 

“Oh hey it’s Billy! Most ‘powerful angel in the garrison’!” Zuriel said sarcastically. By now everyone else in the vicinity had stopped to watch, and were glancing between Zuriel and Billy, the angels warily, the demons eagerly.

 

“This is your last chance to cut it out,” Billy warned him, the familiar tingles of righteous fury beginning to course through him

 

“Or what?” Zuriel taunted him smugly. “Can’t use your powers here, Angel. What are you going to do about it?”

 

And Billy knew he shouldn’t. He _really_ knew he shouldn’t. But how could he resist?

 

And quick as a flash he pulled his arm back and sent his fist flying into Zuriel’s face with a satisfying crack.

 

Zuriel staggered back, blood spurting from his nose, not even knowing what hit him. There was dead silence in the bar. And then a demon hooted and punched the demon next to him in joyous solidarity.

 

“Oh boy,” Goodnight said, looking at them.

 

An angel reached out to help the unfortunate Zuriel, but he threw their hands off him furiously, punching them too. And then a free-for-all broke out, people jumping each other since apparently that was what they were doing now. The few remaining humans looked at each other and shrugged, and then they were joining the fray too, the sound of bottles smashing and people hollering filling the room.

 

Billy caught Goodnight’s eye.

 

 _We should go_ , he mouthed and Goodnight nodded, grabbing his jacket. And then he and Billy were slipping through the crowds while they still could, finding the exit, and spilling into the parking lot, a fresh wave of cool night air spilling over them.

 

They ran giddily over to the edges of the parking lot, boots tickling the desert dust that was tickling the tarmac of the lot, the sounds of energetic yelling and breaking glasses and the jukebox steadily pumping away, floating out on the breeze behind them.

 

They looked back at the bar, one of the silhouettes in the window going down. They looked back at each other, lips twitching, and then burst out laughing, bent over double.

 

“Oh my _fuck_ ,” Goodnight wheezed. “I can’t believe you just started a bar fight!”

 

His glasses had fallen off from the force of his laughter and he picked them back up, tucking them into his front pocket rather than putting them on again.

 

“ _He_ started it by being a dick!” Billy protested, still laughing.

 

“You just punched another angel!” Goodnight said gleefully. “I can’t believe you!”

 

“I warned him,” Billy pointed out. “Thrice.”

 

“What the heaven kind of angel are you anyways?” Goodnight asked, smoothing out his suit. “Since when do angels _brawl_?”

 

“It’s not that uncommon,” Billy said shrugging, still wearing a grin. “It used to happen all the time before the Great Flood. Then He started getting sick of it, but it still happens sometimes.”

 

“Oh.” Goodnight deflated, like he was almost disappointed the angels weren’t as corrupt as he thought. “Still though. You see any angels and demons fighting each other?”

 

“No, I think they were just staying in their own groups,” Billy said.

 

“Good,” said Goodnight, and Billy agreed. There was always a truce during the symposium. And while these conferences were generally seen as a bit of a farce, it had still been sort of nice, and it would hardly be beneficial to undo any good will that had built up. Infighting was acceptable, but everyone was acutely aware that breaking the truce during conference time had dire consequences.

 

And heck. Maybe a good fight would be good for bonding. It would definitely give everyone something to talk about.

 

Goodnight glanced over at the bar. “Don’t fancy going back in there. Feel like heading back?”

 

“Sure,” Billy said. They'd been sociable enough for one evening.

 

“Don’t suppose that angels know how to hotwire busses along with throwing a mean right hook?” Goodnight asked Billy with a grin, gesturing to the party busses that had shuttled them all to the bar.

 

“I do not,” Billy said. “But it’s not far to walk.”

 

And it wasn’t. They’d taken the main road which had brought them to the little bar in a wide arc, but it was only a couple miles back across the desert. Billy could even see the lights of the conference building twinkling in the distance, a sparkling pinprick nestled in the shadowy horizon.

 

They set out, letting the lights of the distant conference building orient them as they picked their way over the terrain, walking across the scrubland, avoiding little bristly shrubs and larger rocks. It was a cool night, the temperature having dropped abruptly while they were in the bar. But it was fresh, invigorating, and nice to walk after the crowded heat of the bar.

 

They’d been walking for about a mile when Goodnight started chuckling to himself again.

 

“Still can’t believe you started a bar fight.”

 

“Why, don’t have it in me?”

 

“Oh, I _know_ you have it in you,” Goodnight said. “Can’t believe you decked another angel though. You seriously don’t get in trouble for that?”

 

“Eh, might get a slap on the wrist,” Billy said. “But everyone’s been wanting to do that to Zuriel.”

 

“Can’t imagine why,” Goodnight said dryly.

 

“He’s just jealous of you ‘cause angels like you more than him,” Billy said, boots scuffing into the sand while they walked.

 

“Ah, so you don’t just hang out with me because you feel sorry for me,” Goodnight said in a joking voice, but there was a slight edge to it.

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Billy said flatly and Goodnight snorted. Billy added for good measure: “The day I feel sorry for you is the day you finally pick a movie I like.”

 

“You _loved_ Spice World, and don’t even think about denying it,” Goodnight said with a laugh. Billy gently shoved him and Goodnight stopped walking. Billy stopped too.

 

“Still,” Goodnight said, voice quiet in the desert night. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Defend me.”

 

“I know I don’t,” Billy said. “But maybe I want to.”

 

Goodnight cracked a soft smile. “You my guardian angel or something?”

 

“Or something,” Billy agreed looking over at him, feeling his lips twitch in response. And then a bright spot streaked across the sky, catching Billy’s attention, making him look up. He stilled and smiled.

 

“Look at that,” he said nudging Goody and he looked up too, mouth parting slightly in his bearded jaw.

 

“Well how ‘bout that,” he said in quiet wonder and Billy hummed his agreement. The stars were spread over them in a dazzling mosaic, even more sparks seeming to burn through the atmosphere the longer they looked, filling the sky with so many blinding white pinpricks it was like the patches of black in between were the anomaly.

 

“Last time I saw a sky like that would have been…”

 

“Pre-industrialism?” Billy supplied and Goodnight laughed.

 

“Probably.”

 

They stared a while longer, the cool breeze cloaking them like a shawl, their shoulders touching, the sky pressing in on them like it was raining stars.

 

“Sure you don’t miss it?” Goodnight said, looking up at the heavens. The words rang a bell in Billy’s mind, some two-thousand years back, the same words coming from those lips right before the only time they ever almost touched Billy’s. Billy turned to look at him, letting his eyes sweep over the shadows of Goodnight’s face, the silvery moonlight casting ripples over his eyes, turning them a pale, burning copper.

 

“No. You?” Billy said back, remembering. Goodnight turned his head to him, the gold sliding back into his eyes as he moved them away from the stars and towards Billy.

 

“No,” he said smiling, eyes locked on Billy’s own, and Billy knew he remembered too. “View’s a lot better down here.”

 

And Billy had been here before: they might have been in Texas and not Pompeii, it was nighttime not sunset, the air was cool and brisk and not thick and warm, the ground was a hard scrub of sand not a soft swath of thick grass. But Goodnight’s eyes were exactly the same as they’d been all those years ago, and so was the feeling inside Billy: a giddy lightness as though the universe was about to shift and Billy had the wings to meet it when it did.

 

The night curved around them, stars wrapped overhead, the only things out there older than them, and it was like all the years of all the universes were pressing in on them, like they were everywhere and nowhere at once, always and right now.

 

And Billy couldn’t stand it anymore, he really couldn’t stand it.

  

“Goody, can we just,” he said desperately, turning towards Goodnight, all his longing surging up through him in a single visceral rush.

 

“Yes,” Goodnight said breathlessly, and Billy had just enough time to reach out before Goodnight was there in his arms, and Billy’s lips were on his, kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him.

 

Billy moaned as Goodnight kissed him back, just as consumed. It felt like he might shake apart at any moment. This was…so unreal and yet _so_ real. Goodnight’s lips parted beneath his and Billy tilted his head, shuddering at the scrape of Goodnight’s beard against his cheek, the hand that slid through his hair, his mind spinning on overdrive that this was actually _Goody_ he was kissing. The knowledge heightened every press of their lips, every sound Goodnight made, every shift of their arms together as they pulled each other closer, starving, every touch of their skin both feeding and fuelling that hunger at the same time.

 

Goodnight’s hands pulled at Billy’s shirt and it was like being flooded by warmth and electrocuted at the same time, every molecule in him drenched and dizzy with each electric shock of Goodnight’s lips touching his, slick and warm, like diving into the deep end of a pool. Billy took an unsteady breath and pulled Goodnight in closer to kiss him harder, and Goodnight’s arms slid around Billy’s back, holding him tight, kissing him back. There was no hesitation, no experimentation, no holding anything back. This was just pure kissing without any expectation or thought of what came before or what would come after. However new and strange it might have been for them, it couldn’t have felt more familiar, more inevitable, or more right.

 

Billy couldn’t say how long they stood there swaying beneath the stars, kissing like they never meant to stop. It felt like they’d already been doing this for thousands of years, and like they could stand there and do it for a thousand more.

 

But when they finally pulled slowly apart it was like standing in the centre of a shattered hourglass in the shape of the universe, every year they’d lived swirling around them, whole entire lifetimes floating past their heads like motes of dust in the starlight.

 

Their foreheads were still touching, and Billy was dimly aware that something in the universe had cracked open, some deep cosmological shift in the fault lines of his existence. But he closed his eyes to the rest of the universe, since it had all narrowed down to the sounds of Goodnight’s ragged breathing and the feeling of Goodnight’s heart pulsing against his chest, the one fixed point in a spinning universe.

 

They stood that way for a long time, neither moving to break their hold on each other, neither willing to leave this endless eternity that circled around them in infinite rings.

 

Billy trailed a hand down Goodnight’s arm, brushing over his wrist, until their fingers were tangled together, and Goodnight let out a soft breath, and Billy could have let that sound lift him up and carry him anywhere in the universe he wanted.

 

“So…” Billy started, his voice sounding cracked, unrecognizable to his own ears. “That happened.”

 

“It did,” Goodnight said, his eyes closed like he’d been hit over the head by a blunt force the size of a supernova.

 

“You know what I think we should do?” Billy finally said, suddenly hyperaware of himself and what he was about to propose.

 

Goodnight looked up at him questioningly and Billy let himself fall into their molten centres.

 

“I think we should not think about this,” Billy said quietly, seriously. “I think we should not think about what this means yet, or what might happen, and for once just do something because we want to.”

 

Billy looked into Goodnight’s eyes. “Do you want this?”

 

Goodnight nodded, a streak of gold flashing across his eyes that was disbelieving, almost pained. “I want this.”

 

“Okay,” Billy said, and squeezed Goodnight’s hand. “Let’s go.”

 

 

*

 

That night would pass by for Billy in both an acute, slow progression of detail where he was memorizing every motion as it happened, but also in a series of brief, vivid, hummingbird flashes as well, feather-fast and jewel-bright.

 

Flash one: pulling Goodnight into their room at the quiet, deserted conference centre, where he pushed Goodnight back against the wall only for Goodnight’s back to hit the light switch they’d left on, cloaking them in darkness, and Billy got to taste Goodnight’s laugh for the first time.

 

Flash two: getting Goodnight’s clothes off him, taking care with each item as he removed it, and marveling over the slow, careful slide of hands as Goodnight pushed Billy’s clothes off his own skin as well.

 

Flash three: finally settling in together on the bed, Goodnight leaning his head back and drawing in a sharp gasp at the first slide of skin on bare skin together, breathing out Billy’s name like he was searing it into his bones.

 

Flash four: Goodnight above him and looking down at Billy with a heady, almost lazy smile, right before sinking down onto Billy and drawing him inside, nothing but endless, exquisite pressure that threatened to consume Billy from the inside out.

 

Flash five: Rolling Goodnight onto his back and shuddering at the feeling of Goodnight’s arms sliding around his neck, like he wanted to keep Billy there against him always.

 

Flash six: Goodnight’s eyes burning pure white gold when Billy bent down to whisper his name, his real name, in a language that was older than time.

 

Flash seven: Goodnight’s hands on his back, whispering _can I_ before slipping his hand into a place that couldn’t be seen, reaching into the ether between Billy’s skin and the warm air on his back, and easing his fingers into the soft cluster of feathers where Billy kept his wings, Billy crying out in surprise and pleasure.

 

Flash eight: the pressure inside him building until Billy was nothing but a trillion surging light particles hurtling towards a collision, and Goodnight’s fingers digging harder into his wings.

 

And then it seemed like every moment of Billy’s life flashed before his eyes at once, everything going white in a single, cosmic expansion.

 

It took a while for Billy to come back to himself. He’d had the overpowering sensation of rushing headlong through time and space, but when he came back to reality he was still there in the little dorm room, Goodnight pinned under him, the pair of them thoroughly entangled, skin slick and breath still coming fast, and Goodnight looking up at him with slow, languorous eyes.

 

“Goody,” was all Billy could moan before dropping his head to Goodnight’s shoulder, shuddering for the feeling of Goodnight’s hands running up his back, remembering the feeling of them inside him, reaching for the essence of himself.

 

“Oh Billy,” Goodnight murmured. He turned his head to kiss clumsily at Billy’s temple, and Billy groaned and turned his head to catch his mouth, and they kissed fiercely, hands clutching desperately at each other’s faces, fingers brushing the sweat-dampened hair in their eyes.

 

They pulled back breathing hard and Billy stared into his eyes intently.

 

“I really love you,” he said, the words opening up a cavernous, vulnerable hole in his chest, one he’d kept covered for so long that exposing it made even the softest breeze feel like a sharp wind, so unguarded and open he felt. But he had to say it.

 

Goodnight’s fingers faltered in their soothing motions across Billy’s brow and his lips parted helplessly.

 

“You love everyone,” he said hesitantly, like he was trying to make sure of something.

 

Billy shook his head with conviction.

 

“Not like this.”

 

He might have been nature-bound to love all humanity, but that love manifested itself in very different ways for different living creatures. And there was no one out there quite like Goody, and Goody had to know that this, these feelings Billy had for him, were like nothing else he’d felt in all the cosmos.

 

Goodnight’s lips trembled just the slightest amount before he was cupping Billy’s face tight.

 

“I love you so much,” he breathed, tracing Billy’s lips with his fingers like he couldn’t believe he could touch them. “I always have.”

 

Billy swallowed and pulled Goodnight up into a sitting position, just to fold his arms around him again and kiss him properly until both were flushed and dizzy.

 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Goodnight said, almost drunk with stupefication, when they pulled back, and Billy felt the same way. They’d seen lifetimes together, watched continents drift apart and lock together again; had seen galaxies spin and collide in firework displays the size of the night sky; had seen tides at night turn diamond blue from the first twinkles of bioluminescence in the oceans, and had heard the northern sky hum while swaths of green and purple electrons danced in the frozen stratosphere.

 

It was almost ludicrous that this should happen here, now, in a small, unremarkable room in the middle of nowhere, when they’d travelled the ends of the earth together, and could have done this in vastly more romantic settings.

 

But pressed this close to Goody, and smoothing his hair away from his brow so he could better look into that flame-like gaze, ‘right here’ felt more than romantic enough to Billy.

 

“You never said,” Goodnight said, his voice still amazed, fingers trailing down Billy’s back, almost absently tracing the outline of Billy’s wings over his skin.

 

“I thought I was protecting you,” Billy admitted and Goodnight smiled.

 

“My guardian angel, huh?” he murmured again, voice low and like velvet over Billy’s skin, and Billy shivered for the sound of it.

 

“Always,” he said. Goodnight sighed and leaned his head on Billy’s shoulder, their arms still wrapped around each other.

 

“You don’t think…” Goodnight mumbled into his shoulder, “that this’ll somehow blow up in our faces?”

 

“I did for a while,” Billy said. “But not anymore.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because even if the entire heavenly host did descend on our heads I could take ‘em,” Billy said blithely and Goodnight snorted. “Except Sam,” Billy amended. “But he likes you, so that’s okay.”

 

Goodnight laughed softly and Billy was reminded by something Sam had said: how Billy would have to take the initiative because Goodnight never would.

 

“What about you?” Billy asked Goodnight, nudging the side of his head with his own. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

 

“How could I?” Goodnight asked looking up, surprise in his eyes as thought it was obvious. “You’re an angel.”

 

“So?”

 

“So I just,” Goodnight bit his lip, looking down at the mattress. “I just didn’t want you to Fall too.”

 

Billy’s mouth opened at how long Goodnight must have been guarding this feeling, never saying anything, never trying to corrupt Billy, and thought about how hard it must have been for a demon to keep this burning desire locked down for a reason that was purely selfless. Few angels could have managed such a thing.

 

Goodnight flicked his eyes up to Billy’s, and the intense earnestness in them was like a punch to the gut.

 

“Billy,” Goodnight breathed. “You have to know, in all the years, I’ve never tried to Tempt you, at least not with a capital T, I wouldn’t do that, not to you…”

 

“No I know,” Billy said pulling him close, holding him tight. He knew Goodnight’s feelings for him weren’t born of a natural inclination to ensnare him in temptation, just like he knew his love for Goodnight wasn’t just the base-level obligatory love an angel was duty-bound to feel. Whatever they felt, it was real.

 

“What about your side?” Billy asked, kissing Goodnight’s neck since it was there and he could. “You don’t think they’d disapprove if they found out?”

 

“Are you kidding?” Goodnight asked, and Billy felt him grin into his shoulder. “I fucked an angel, I’ll probably get a commendation.”

 

Billy laughed, caught off guard, gently smacking Goodnight’s head while the demon shook with silent laughter.

 

“Don't cheapen it.” He was being entirely disingenuous though. A sly, mischievous Goodnight was his favourite kind of Goodnight, and it made his heart sing that they could still be so thoroughly themselves, even though they’d added this new layer to their relationship. It didn’t feel like they were stepping forward into uncharted territory: rather like they were taking a step sideways into a new space that had always been there by their sides, waiting for them all along.

 

They sat entangled as their breathing gradually slowed, hands stroking, exploring this new shift in their relationship with curious, slow touches. Goodnight ran a finger down the length of Billy’s spine, the sparse hairs on Billy’s body standing in response. And when Goodnight’s fingers brushed over his tailbone, in between the dimples on Billy’s lower back, Billy experienced a full-body shudder.

 

“You like that?” Goodnight asked, low delight and wonder in his voice. Billy closed his eyes and nodded, suddenly laughing out of nowhere.

 

“I was just thinking the other day how used to having this body I was, and how I knew everything it could feel and do,” he said mused. He laughed wryly at his naivety, having been proved thoroughly, heart-pounding wrong tonight. “Apparently not.”

 

“Well,” Goodnight said consideringly, and there was that clever, devious tone to his voice again, and Billy felt himself smiling in automatic response. “Wanna do it again?”

 

Billy grinned and looked up at him too. And before Goodnight could say another word, Billy cupped his face and drew him in for a joyful kiss, pulling him back over him onto the bed, and continuing it there.

 

 

*

 

The crowd in the lobby was gradually thinning as different groups were called back to the busses that had brought them here.

 

“Group nine? Group nine! Your bus is outside, if you could all line up, group nine…”

 

Beings were shaking hands, swapping their newly-acquired email addresses, promising to stay in touch before the next conference, and Billy looked on feeling a glow. Angels and demons entering the technical age had not been without its ridiculous moments, but if it meant staying connected could become that much easier, then they’d achieved all that these conferences set out to accomplish, and more.

 

And Billy was right: a barroom brawl had bizarrely been good for morale. Angels and demons were proudly displaying bruises, swapping remember-whens, and sagely sharing hangover tips, trying to sound like pedigreed members of a gentleman’s drinking club but really just sounding like a group of kids getting their first fake IDs.

 

“Group _ten_!”

 

The second-to-last last group poured out, hoisting backpacks on their shoulders, waving to the others. Billy turned away and sought out Goodnight, every nerve in his body experiencing a low thrum when he saw him.

 

As an angel, Billy was well-versed in which actions were the most divine, hallowed, and consecrated, according to Heaven. Sex didn’t often come up on those lists, and Billy couldn’t imagine why. He was pretty sure what had happened last night, what he and Goodnight had shared, was more holy than anything that went on up there anyways.

 

Goodnight smiled softly at him and Billy felt an achingly tender rush of affection, thinking of the marks hidden away beneath their clothes, the touches and words they’d exchanged last night, the sweet soreness inside them both from discovering each other in turn, all these the sensations and memories stored just under Billy’s skin, vibrating, humming, needing only the slightest touch for them to burst out in full song.

 

The last group finally filed out and they were left standing alone in the lobby of the conference centre, so much having changed since when they arrived, and somehow so little as well.

 

“Hi,” Goodnight said.

 

“Hi,” said Billy.

 

They were dressed and packed and ready to go, having barely made it downstairs from how much they wanted to stay locked together, hardly wanting to breathe too hard, lest it separate them even a fraction, so magnetic and all-consuming the draw for them to stay together was. Billy suspected he’d been feeling this way for quite a while.

 

“You ready?” Billy asked. “We need to return the car before our flight –”

 

“About that,” Goodnight interrupted, clearing his throat. “I actually cancelled our tickets.”

 

“Did you?” Billy asked. His heart jumped at the thought of not having to take a plane, but he could have weathered it with Goodnight there. Could handle anything with Goodnight beside him.

 

“Well I remember you saying something about ocean liners,” Goodnight said, taking two gleaming tickets embossed with a gold anchor from his pocket. “And turns out there are a few left.”

 

“Really?” Billy asked him, lips twitching.

 

“It’ll take us about a week to cross,” Goodnight said. “And I know your side frowns upon cruises, but I don’t really think we’ll be leaving the room much, do you?”

 

He gave Billy a hesitant and heated look, and Billy’s smile melted onto his face in full.

 

“I don’t.” Billy had a feeling that as soon as they got back to their city they’d be shutting themselves up in one of their rooms and spending at _least_ the next decade there, learning what else these forms could do together. After all, they had quite a lot of time to catch up on.

 

“Well then,” Goodnight said, flicking his sunglasses down with a grin. “Shall we?”

 

They left the building, the sun pouring down on the sand, the last of the busses already far off in the distance, clouds of dust behind them. Billy and Goodnight got into their car and exchanged smiles as they settled in for the drive.

 

They pulled out of the parking lot and onto the dirt road and took off toward highway that would bring them to the coast, and beyond that, the ocean, and beyond that, the rest of the universe if they wanted it. And behind them the conference centre shone white and pearly in the sun, getting smaller and smaller behind them, shimmering, blurring, until it winked out and vanished, almost like it had never been there at all, nothing left but the empty desert and a wide open sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**The End**

 

 

 

 


End file.
